library  of 
(lI]c  University  of  Hortb  darolina 


C  O  L  T.  K  C  T  I  O  N      o  F 

NORTH    CAROLIXIANA 


K  N  D  O  W  E  D       B  Y 

J  ()  H  X     S  P  R  U  NT     HILL 
of  the  class  of  1889 


i 


THE 


RIFLE,  AXE,  AND  SADDLE-BAGS 


'j,,fn^/y. 


THE 


RIFLE,  AXE,  AID  SADDLE-BAGS, 


OTHER  LECTURES. 


WILLIAM    HENRY    MILBURN. 

WITH  INTRODUCTION  BY  REY.  J.  MoOLINTOCK,  D.D. 

^oilrait  o£  tt«  ^utfeor  on  %Ud. 


NEW  YORK : 
DERBY    &    JACKSON,    119    NASSAU    STREET. 

.  CINCINNATI:— H.  W.  DERBY  &  CO. 
1857. 


Entkbsd  according  to  Act  of  CongregB,  in  the  year  18M,  by 

DERBY    &    JACB^OX, 

In  the  Clerk'i  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for  the  Southern  Diatrict  of  New  York. 


W.  H.  Tmmii,  SUraotypar.  Gbobob  Rumbll  A  Co.,  Prm,rr 


GEORGE     W.     WILLIAMS,     ESQ., 

OP  CHARLESTON,  S.  C, 

A  FRIEND, 

WHOSK  THOTTGHTFUL  KINDNESS  AND  BROTHERLY  AFFECTION 

HAVE   BEKK  TO   MB 

A    JOT    AND    BLESSING, 

®tts    Voluvxt    is    Instxihth. 


CONTENTS 


THE   SYMBOLS   OP   EARLY   WESTERN   CHARACTER  AND   CIVILIZATION. 

PACK 

First  Invaders, 27 

The  Untamed  Wilderness, 29 

Daniel  Boone, 31 


THE   RIFLE. 

White  and  McClelland, 35 

The  Female  Captive, 37 

The  Mysterious  Shot, 39 

A  Narrow  Escape, 41 

The  Real  Young  America,  ..••,.,.  43 


THE  AXB. 

A  Backwoods  Marriage, 47 

The  Wedding  Dinner, 49 

A  Dance, 51 

Homes  in  the  Wilderness, 53 

Justice  in  the  Backwoods,  ....,,,,  55 


THE   SADDLE-BAGS. 

Preachers  in  the  Wilderness, 67 

William  Burke, 59 

Good  Looks  Heretical, 61 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Modesty  and  Courage, 63 

Accommodations  for  Man  and  Beast,   ......  65 

The  Preacher's  Dormitory, 67 

Henry  Beidelraan  Bascom, 69 

Value  of  a  Song, 71 

"  Old  Jimmy's  "  Reproofs, 73 

Judge  White  Surprised,        ........  75 

The  Work  of  the  Clergy,     ....                 ...  77 

The  Vision  of  John  Fitch, 79 

The  Pioneer's  Work, 81 

SONGS   IN   THE   NIGHT ;    OR,  THE  TRIUMPHS   OF   GENIUS   OVER   BLINDNESS. 

Beauty  and  Effects  of  Light, 87 

The  Eye, 89 

Eminent  Blind  Men,     .         .                  91 

Nicholas  Saunderson,  .........  93 

Ilis  Remarkable  Sense  of  Hearing, 95 

Francis  Huber,     . 97 

His  Investigation  in  Bees, 99 

Augustin  Thierry, 101 

Madame  Paradisi, 103 

A  Triumph  of  Resolution, 105 

Mr.  Prescott, 107 

Francis  Parkman, 109 

John  Milton, Ill 

His  Early  Studies, 113 

His  Controversial  Career, 115 

Premonitions  of  Blindness, 117 

Sonnets  on  his  Blindness, .119 

His  Immortal  Fame, 121 

Blindness  an  Impediment  to  Oratory, 123 

Sympathy  Necessary  to  the  Speaker, 125 

The  other  Senses  Quickened, 127 

The  BHnd  Man's  Need  is  his  Gain, 129 

The  Blind  Man  is  an  Optimist 131 

"  I  am  Old  and  Blind." 133 

AN  hour's  TALK  ABOUT  WOMAN. 

Their  Various  Expounders, 139 

Old  Influences  not  yet  Removed, 141 


CONTENTS.  ix 

PAGB 

"  The  Bridge  of  Sighs," I43 

True  Power  lies  not  in  the  Physical, I47 

The  Moral  Greater  than  the  Intellectual, 149 

John  Howard  the  Philanthropist, 151 

Self-education, I53 

Woman's  Sphere, I55 

Ancient  and  Modern  Women, 157 

Woman's  CapabiUties  Examined, I59 

Education  Ceases  with  School, 161 

Frivolity  a  Prevaihug  Evil, 163 

A  Strict  Regard  of  Time  Required, 165 

Earnestness  of  Female  Authors, 16*7 

Surfacism, I69 

Women  the  Best  Literary  Instructors,  .        .        ,        .         '171 

A  Fast  Age,        . I73 

Woman's  Responsibility,      .        .        .   ' 175 

Asceticism  to  be  Avoided, I77 

Pharisaism  Replaces  True  Religion, 17  9 

The  Power  of  Sympathy,     .         .   181 

Conversation, 183 

The  Importance  of  Conversation, 185 

Educational  Suggestions,     . 187 

Our  Domestic  Life, I89 

An  Illustration, 191 

Class  Separatism, I93 

Evil  Influences, ' I95 

Woman  the  True  Reformer, I97 

Domestic  Solicitudes, I99 

Her  Moral  Requirements, 201 

Maternal  Teachings, 203 

Practical  Counsel, 205 

Educational  Suggestions, 207 

Future  Hopes, 209 

FRENCH  CHIVALRY  IN  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

Early  Charters  of  Trade, 215 

Early  Discoveries  in  the  Southwest, 2lT 

Exploration  of  the  Mississippi, .  219 

Discouragements  of  the  Colonists, 221 

The  French  Charter  Renounced, 223 


« 


X  CONTENTS. 

PAOF 

The  Assiento  Contract, 225 

Gold  Unsuccessfully  Sought, 227 

Foundation  of  Xew  Orleans, 229 

Development  of  Internal  Resources, 231 

Collisions  between  the  French  and  Spanish,  ....  233 

Gradual  Growth  of  the  Colony, 235 

Sufferings  of  the  Colonists, •         .  237 

Collisions  with  the  Indians, 239 

French  Outrages, 241 

Massacre  at  Fort  Rosahe, 243 

Extermination  of  the  Garrison, 245 

Retaliation  by  the  French, 247 

Attack  upon  the  Chickasaws, 249 

Growth  of  the  Louisiana  Province, 253 

Destruction  of  a  French  Colony, 255 

Cession  of  Territory  to  the  British, 257 

Cession  of  Western  Louisiana  to  Spain, 259 

Oppression  of  the  Spanish  Governor, 261 

Expansion  of  the  Anglo-American  Element,        ....  263 

Purchase  of  the  Louisiana  Territory, 265 

Historical  Traditions, 267 

Incidents  of  Forest  Life, 269 

Military  Tyranny, 273 

Anecdote  of  Montberaut, 275 

Bossu's  Anecdotes, 277 

McGillivray,  .         .         * 279 

Forest  Diplomacy, 285 

Treaty  at  New  York, 291 

Character  of  McGillivray, 293 

William  A.  Bowles, 295 

Establishes  a  Trading  Post, 297 

Imprisoned  by  the  Spanish, 299 

The  Napoleonist  Refugees, 301 

"  The  Vine  and  OUve  Company," 303 

111  Success  of  the  Adventure, 305 

Dispersion  of  the  Settlers, 3u7 

Anglo-Saxon  Supremacy, 309 


INTRODUCTION 


It  has  come  to  be  somewhat  common  for  new  writers  to  get 
their  books  introduced  to  the  world  by  other  hands.  The  prac- 
tice is  not  a  commendable  one ;  certainly,  at  least,  it  requires 
strong  justification  in  the  character  of  the  book,  in  the  circum- 
stances of  the  author,  or  in  the  relations  of  both  to  the  public. 

The  present  case  affords  such  justification  to  an  ample  extent, 
as  the  reader  who  wiU  foUow  me  through  a  few  pages,  will  freely 
admit. 

I  have  known  William  H.  ¥ilbi]en  from  a  boy ;  his  earl/ 
days  were  spent  within  a  stone's  throw  of  my  father's  house  in 
Philadelphia.  He  was  born  in  that  city,  Sept.  26,  1823.  In 
early  childhood  his  eyes  were  injured ;  the  sight  of  one  was 
lost  irretrievably,  and  of  the  other,  partially.  Fron^  that  day  to 
this  he  has  lived  on,  nearly,  but  not  quite,  blind;  son^times  able 
to  read,  painfully  and  slowly  indeed,  but  yet  to  read.  A  blessing 
has  this  small  share  of  occasional  eye-sight  been  to  him ;  many 
a  lesson  of  wisdom  from  the  printed  page  has  that  little  corner 
of  a  wounded  eye  let  in  to  feed  and  stimulate  the  apt  and  quick- 
seeing  soul  behind  it ;  and  now  and  then,  a  winged  arrow  from 
"  the  golden  quivers  of  the  sky,"  has  shot  into  that  small  open- 
ing of  the  elsewhere  sightless  orb  always  offering  itself  as  a 
willing  target.    But  of  the  brilliant  beauty  of  the  fair  earth, 


J511  INTRODTJCTION. 

trembling  in  its  joy  nnder  the  ceaseless  shower  of  snnrays  on  a 
bright  day ;  of  the  shining  pageants  and  braveries  that  every- 
day life  affords  to  every-day  eyes ;  of  the  rich  dyes  that  nature 
is  ever  dropping  from  her  light-tipped  fingers — the  crimson,  the 
purple,  and  the  gold  of  the  evening  sky — the  pale  light  of  stars 
studding  the  deep  azure — the  violet,  the  purple,  and  the  emerald 
of  garden,  and  field,  and  meadow ;  of  the  full  eflQuence  of 

That  tide  of  glory  which  no  rest  doth  know, 
But  ever  ebb  and  ever  flow, 

— of  all  these  he  knows  nothing  except  by  recollection  and  by 
imagination. 

But  he  has  this  great  advantage  over  the  born  blind,  or  even 
over  those  who  have  lecome  totally  blind  in  after  life,  that  he  is 
not  entirely  dependent  upon  what  others  tell  him  about  the  outer 
world ;  that  he  did  get  images  of  it  in  his  childhood,  which  still 
furnish  the  inner  chambers  of  his  soul ;  and  tliat  he  yet  sees, 
now  and  then,  at  least,  a  little  of  the  world's  beauty — enough  to 
stimulate  his  fancy  and  at  the  same  time  to  rectify  its  aberra- 
tions. 

And  as  the  eye,  however  physically  perfect,  is  only  an  instru- 
ment for  the  mind  to  use ;  as  it  remains  true,  now  as  ever,  that 
the  eye  only  sees  in  nature  what  it  brings  means  of  seeing ;  so, 
Mr.  Milburn's  little  modicum  of  vision  has  availed  him  more, 
for  all  purposes  of  culture,  than  most  men's  perfect  eye-sight. 
It  is  doubtless  true,  also,  that  his  very  defect  of  vision  has 
quickened  his  power  of  attention,  enlarged  his  faculty  of  obser- 
vation, and  strengthened  his  memory  of  things  once  seen.  At 
all  events,  in  these  capacities  he  is  very  largely  endowed.  But, 
above  and  beyond  all  this,  he  has  that  richest  of  all  possessions 
to  any  man — precious,  especially,  above  all  price,  to  him^ 

The  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land  ; 
The  vision  and  the  faculty  divine, 

which  floods,  for  its  possessor,  all  things,  visible  and  invisible, 
with  its  unceasing  radiance,  brighter  than  the  sunliglit.  Under 
this  inspiration  his  mind  clothes,  in  its  own  forms  of  beauty,  the 


INTRODFCTTON.  XUl 

world  of  things  he  sees  not ;  weaves,  from  its  own  abundant 
stores,  garments  of  light  and  loveliness  for  his  wife,  his  children 
and  his  friends ;  and  creates,  from  the  common  material  that 
every-day  sounds  furnish— from  the  talk  of  the  fireside ;  from  a 
friend's  voice  reading  the  daily  newspaper  ;  from  the  street  cries, 
the  tread  of  many  feet  and  the  rattle  of  wheels,  in  the  busy  city; 
from  the  tinkle  of  cow-beUs,  the  babble  of  brooks,  and  the  songs 
of  birds  in  the  country— a  world  of  its  own,  in  which  he  lives 
(in  spite  of  what  appears  to  be,  and  is,  so  great  a  privation)  a 
life  far  richer  in  joy  and  peace  and  gladness  than  faUs  to  the 
lot  of  ordinary  men. 

Mr.  Milburn  left  Philadelphia  while  yet  a  boy,  and  for  some 
years  I  lost  sight  of  him.  The  following  sketch  of  the  outward 
facts  of  his  life,  written  by  T.  B.  Thorpe,  Esq.,  for  a  New  York 
journal,  is  in  the  main,  I  think,  accurate;  though  it  gives  no 
notion  of  the  painful  and  continued  struggles  of  the  half-blind 
youth  in  getting  on  in  the  world.  "We  find  him  at  the  age 
of  fourteen  in  lUinois,  earning  a  living  as  a  clerk  in  a  store, 
and  by  the  aid  of  friends  reading  to  him,  occupying  his  leisure 
time  in  preparing  for  college,  which  he  finally  accomplished, 
and  made  great  proficiency  as  a  student.  In  1843  his  health, 
in  consequence  of  close  application,  failed  him,  and  active  hfe 
was  prescribed  as  the  only  thing  calculated  to  restore  him  to 
vigor.  Determining  to  be  useful,  he  commenced  his  pubhc 
life  as  a  Methodist  preacher,  and  for  two  years  suffered  almost 
incredible  hardships  among  the  cabins  of  the  West.  In  the 
faU  of  1845,  he  made  his  appearance  in  the  Northern  and 
Eastern  States,  as  an  advocate  for  the  cause  of  education  in 
the  West,  and  was  everywhere  received  with  enthusiasm,  not 
only  on  account  of  his  intellectual  quahties,  but  also  for  his 
amiable  disposition,  and  eminent  social  virtues.  On  his  journey 
north,  Mr.  Milburn  found  himself  on  board  of  an  Ohio  river 
steamer,  on  which  were  three  hundred  passengers.  From  the 
number  of  days  the  passengers  had  been  together,  Mr.  Milburn 
had  become  pretty  well  informed  of  their  character,  and  ho 
found  most  prominent  among  the  gentlemen,  were  a  number  ot 


XIV  IXTRODFCTTON. 

members  of  Congress,  on  their  way  to  Wasliington.  These  gen- 
tlemen liad  attracted  Mr.  Milburn's  attention,  on  account  of  their 
exceptionable  habits.  On  the  arrival  of  Sabbath  morning,  it 
"was  rumored  througli  the  boat,  that  a  minister  was  on  board, 
and  Mr.  Milburn,  who  had  up  to  this  time  attracted  no  atten- 
tion, was  hunted  up  and  called  upon  to  '  give  a  discourse.'  He 
promptly  consented,  and  in  due  time  commenced  divine  service. 
The  members  of  Congress,  to  whom  we  have  alluded,  were 
among  the  congregation,  and  by  common  consent  had  possession 
of  the  chairs  nearest  to  the  preacher.  Mr.  Milburn  gave  an 
address  suitable  to  the  occasion,  full  of  eloquence  and  pathos, 
and  was  listened  to  throughout  with  the  most  intense  interest. 
At  the  conclusion  he  stopped  short,  and  turning  his  face,  now 
beaming  with  fervent  zeal,  towards  the  '  honorable  gentlemen,' 
he  said :  '  Among  the  passengers  in  this  steamer,  are  a  number 
of  members  of  Congress ;  from  their  position  they  should  be 
exemplars  of  good  morals  and  dignified  conduct,  but  from  what 
I  have  heard  of  them  they  are  not  so.  The  Union  of  these 
States,  if  dependent  on  such  guardians,  would  be  unsafe,  and  all 
the  high  hopes  I  have  of  the  future  of  my  country  would  be 
dashed  to  the  ground.  These  gentlemen,  for  days  past,  have 
made  the  air  heavy  with  profane  conversation,  have  been  con- 
stant patrons  of  the  bar,  and  eneouragers  of  intemperance ;  nay 
more,  the  night,  which  should  be  devoted  to  rest,  has  been  dedi- 
cated to  the  horrid  vices  of  gambling,  profanity  and  drunkenness. 
And,'  continued  Mr.  Milburn,  with  the  solemnity  of  a  man  who 
spoke  as  if  by  inspiration,  '  there  is  but  one  chance  of  salvation 
for  these  great  sinners  in  high  places,  and  that  is,  to  Immbly 
repent  of  their  sins,  call  on  the  Saviour  for  forgiveupess,  and 
reform  their  lives.' 

"As  might  be  supposed,  language  so  bold  from  a  delicate  strip- 
ling, scarcely  twenty-two  years  of  age,  had  a  startling  eftect. 
The  audience  separated,  and  the  preacher  returned  to  his  state- 
room, to  think  upon  what  he  had  said.  Conscious,  after  due 
reflection,  that  he  had  only  done  his  duty,  he  determined  at  all 
hazards  to  maintain  his  position,  even  at  the  expense  of  being 
rudely  assailed,  if  not  lynched.  "While  thus  cogitating,  a  rap 
was  heard   at  his  state-room  door,  a  gentleman  entered  and 


INTEODUCTION.  XV 

stated  that  he  came  with  a  message  from  the  members  of  Con- 
gress— that  they  had  listened  to  his  remarks,  and  in  considera- 
tion of  his  boldness  and  his  eloquence,  they  desired  him  to 
accept  a  purse  of  money  which  they  had  made  up  among  them- 
selves, and  also,  their  best  wishes  for  his  success  and  happiness 
through  life. 

"  But  this  chivalrous  feeling,  so  characteristic  of  western  men 
when  they  meet  bold  thought  and  action  combined,  carried 
these  gentlemen  to  more  positive  acts  of  kindness ;  becoming 
acquainted  with  Mr.  Milburn,  when  they  separated  from  him, 
they  offered  the  unexpected  service  of  making  him  Chaplain  to 
Congress,  a  promise  which  they  not  only  fulfilled,  but  through 
the  long  years  that  have  passed  away  since  that  event,  have 
cherished  for  the  '  blind  preacher '  the  warmest  personal  regard 
and  stand  ever  ready  to  support  him  by  word  and  deed. 

"His  election  to  the  oflBce  of  Chaplain  to  Congress,  so  honora- 
bly conferred,  brought  him  before  the  nation,  and  his  name 
became  familiar  in  every  part  of  the  Union.  His  health  still 
being  delicate,  in  the  year  1847  he  went  south  for  the  advantage 
of  a  mild  climate,  and  took  charge  of  a  church  in  Alabama.  For 
six  years  he  labored  industriously  in  Mobile  and  Montgomery 
cities  of  that  State,  and  in  four  years  of  that  time,  preached  one 
thousand  five  hundred  times,  and  travelled  over  sixty  thousand 
miles." 

In  all  his  different  spheres  of  ministerial  labor,  Mr.  Milburn 
devoted  himself  to  his  work  with  the  zeal  and  fidelity  which  so 
generally  characterize  the  clergy  of  the  Methodist  Episcopal 
Church.  But,  as  may  readily  be  understood,  his  blindness  was 
a  great  impediment  to  the  due  fulfillment  of  the  pastoral  func- 
tion under  the  itinerant  law  of  the  Methodist  ministry.  The 
necessity  of  removing  a  growing  family  from  place  to  place 
every  two  years  was,  of  itself,  too  great  a  task ;  and,  although 
Mr.  Milburn's  great  power  of  endurance,  and  remarkable  physi- 
cal as  well  as  mental  aptitude  for  public  speech,  would  make  it 
easy  for  him  to  discharge  the  pulpit  duties  of  a  fixed  and  per- 
manent charge,  no  such  permanency  of  the  pastoral  relation  is 
compatible  with  the  general  system  of  Methodism.  In  the  sum- 
mer of  1853  he  returned  to  New  York,  and  fixed  his  abode 


XVI  INTRODUCTION. 

there.  Since  that  period  he  has  devoled  hfmself,  first,  to  his 
great  life-work,  preaching  the  Gospel  in  such  churches  in  the 
city  as  needed  occasional  service  in  addition  to,  or  in  place  of, 
the  regular  pastorate ;  and  secondly,  to  the  delivery  of  public 
lectures.  It  was  a  bold  procedure,  but  its  eminent  success  fully 
justified  its  sagacity.  Stepping  into  the  field  at  a  time  when  a 
number  of  the  richest  and  most  fertile  minds  in  the  country 
were  engaged  before  the  public  as  lecturers,  and  when  the  pub- 
lic ear  had  grown  fastidious  from  cultivation,  Mr.  Milburn  took 
no  second  rank,  and  his  reputation  is  now  spread  abroad 
throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land. 

This  preeminent  success  could  only  have  been  achieved  by 
preeminent  powers.  I  have  already  spoken  of  Mr.  Milburn  as  a 
man  of  genius;  but  this  high  gift  goes  but  little  way  in  the  line 
of  literary  life  which  Mr.  Milburn  has  chosen,  unless  supple- 
mented by  good  habits  of  labor.  And  his  industry  is  untiring. 
No  source  of  information  within  his  reach  is  left  unransacked 
for  facts  to  form  the  groundwork  of  his  lectures :  the  reader  of 
this  volume  will  see  that  in  each  discourse  the  hody  is  made  up 
of  sound  and  valuable  information,  in  the  best  sense  of  the 
word.  He  will  see,  too,  that  the  lecturer's  turn  of  mind  is  sin- 
gularly practical ;  and  that  in  the  ethical  and  religious  bearings 
of  his  subject,  his  line  of  thought  is  always  clear  and  definite,  as 
of  one  whose  philosophy  of  life  had  been  the  fruit  of  thorough 
reflection.  Sense — hard,  substantial  sense — ^is  one  of  the  most 
marked  characteristics  of  Mr.  Milburn's  lectures,  as  well  as  of 
his  sermons. 

Mr,  Milburn's  devotion  to  books,  and  the  difficulties  w^ith 
which  his  path  as  a  student  has  been  envircned,  have  been 
before  spoken  of.  I  cannot  do  better,  upon  this  point,  than  to 
present  to  the  reader  the  following  imperfect  newspaper  report 
of  an  address  delivered  by  him  at  the  "Publisher's  Festival," 
held  at  the  Crystal  Palace,  in  New  York,  in  1855  : 

"Mr.  Pkesident  :  I  sincerely  thank  you  for  your  honorable 
recognition  of  the  Clergy.  Perhaps  that  branch  of  it  to  which 
I  belong  may  not  be  the  least  worthy  to  respond  to  your  senti- 
ment, for  they  were  probably  tiie  first  to  penetrate  the  wilds  of 


INTRODUCTION.  Xvii 

the  new  countries,  carrying  those  precious  commodities — 
books. 

"  Were  the  church  compared  to  an  army,  I  should  say  that 
the  other  clergymen  present  belonged  to  the  artillery,  and  good 
service  are  they  doing  in  their  permanent  positions  at  the  bat- 
teries and  in  the  trenches,  against  our  common  foes,  Ignorance 
and  Sin.  I  happened  to  be  drafted  into  the  Light  Brigade, 
whose  service  was  upon  the  outskirts  of  the  camp.  In  a  minis- 
try, the  twelfth  year  of  which  completed  itself  yesterday,  it  has 
fallen  to  my  lot  to  travel  over  two  hundred  thousand  miles  in 
the  performance  of  clerical  duties.  Our  training,  as  itinerant 
ministers,  began  in  the  saddle,  and  in  lieu  of  holsters,  we  carried 
saddle-bags  crammed  with  books  for  study  and  for  sale ;  for  our 
church  economy  held  it  a  duty  of  the  minister  to  circulate  good 
books,  as  well  as  to  preach  the  Word. 

"  Let  me  change  the  figure.  Although  we  were  graduates  of 
Brush  College  and  the  Swamp  University,  we  were  always  the 
friends  of  a  wholesome  literature.  Picture,  then,  a  young 
itinerant,  clad  in  blue  jean,  or  copperas  homespun  ;  his  nether 
extremities  adorned  with  leggings ;  his  head  surmounted  with  a 
straw  hat  in  summer,  a  skin  cap  in  winter ;  dismounting  from 
the  finest  horse  in  the  settlement,  at  the  door  of  a  log  cabin, 
which  may  serve  as  a  schoolhouse  or  a  squatter's  home,  care- 
fully adjusting  on  his  arm  the  well-worn  leather  bookcase.  See 
him  as  he  enters  the  house  of  one  room,  where  is  assembled  the 
little  congregation  of  half  a  dozen  or  a  dozen  hearers — ^back- 
woods farmers  and  hunters,  bringing  with  them  their  wives  and 
little  ones,  their  hounds  and  rifles.  The  religious  service  is  gone 
through,  regularly  as  in  a  cathedral.  At  its  close,  our  young 
friend  opens  the  capacious  pockets  of  his  saddle-bags,  displaying 
on  the  split-bottom  chair,  which  has  served  him  an  a  pulpit,  his 
little  stock  of  books,  to  the  eager  gaze  of  the  foresters. 

"  Thus  day  after  day  does  the  circuit-rider  perform  his  double 
duties,  as  preacher  and  bookseller.  Not  a  few  men  of  my 
acquaintance  have  driven  a  large  trade  in  this  line,  turning 
thereby  many  an  honest  penny.  The  plan  was  designed  to 
work  as  a  two-edged  sword,  cutting  both  ways — to  place  a 
sound  religious  literature  in  the  homes  of  the  people,  and  (as  we 


xviii  nrrRODUCTioN. 

bought  at  a  discount  of  thirty-three  per  cent.)  to  enable  men 
whose  salaries  were  a  hundred  dollars  a  year  (and  who  rejoiced 
greatly  if  they  received  half  that  amount)  to  provide  themselves 
with  libraries.  But  most  of  my  sales  were  on  credit,  and  some 
of  the  accounts  are  still,  after  eleven  years,  outstanding.  I 
therefore  quitted  the  business  at  the  end  of  the  first  year. 

"From  this  picture  you  will  see  that  the  relations  of  the 
clergy  to  the  book  trade  are  more  intimate  than  may  be  gene- 
rally known. 

"  But  wherefore  am  I  speaking,  at  a  festival  given  to  literary 
men — a  man  who  cannot  read?  No  one  would  cast  a  shadow, 
however  slight,  upon  a  joyous  scene  like  this.  But  if  a  testi- 
mony to  the  worth  of  knowledge  may  be  wrung  from  infirmity, 
surely  a  further  personal  allusion  may  be  pardoned. 

"  Time  was,  when  after  a  fashion  I  could  read,  but  never  with 
that  flashing  glance,  which  instantly  transfers  a  word,  a  line,  a 
sentence  from  tne  page  to  the  mind.  It  was  the  perpetuation  of 
the  child's  process,  a  letter  at  a  time,  alwayi  pelling,  never 
reading  truly.  Thus,  for  more  than  twenty  years,  with  the 
shade  upon  the  brow,  the  hand  upon  the  cheek,  the  finger  beneath 
the  eye,  to  make  an  artificial  pupil,  with  beaded  sweat,  joining 
with  the  hot  tears  trickling  from  the  weak  and  paining  organ, 
to  blister  upon  the  page,  was  my  reading  done.  Nevertheless, 
as  I  have  striven  to  study  my  native  tongue  in  Shakspeare's  dic- 
tionary, and  eloquence  in  the  well-nigh  inspired  page  of  Milton, 
or  endeavored  to  look  through  the  sightless  sockets,  yet  light- 
giving  mind  of  Homer  upon  the  plain  of  Troy ;  or  have  sat  me 
at  the  wayside,  with  solitary  Bartiraeus,  to  hear,  if  we  could  not 
see  the  Son  of  Man,  I  have  found  that  knowledge  is  its  own 
exceeding  great  reward. 

"  The  waters  of  the  fountain  of  learning  are  not  the  less,  per- 
haps more  sweet,  because  mixed  with  the  bitter  drops  of  suf- 
fering. 

*'  Gentlemen  booksellers,  the  leaves  you  scatter  are  from  the 
tree  whose  fruit  is  for  the  healing  of  the  nations.  Gentlemen 
publishers,  the  well-heads  opened  in  your  press-rooms  may  send 
forth  streams  to  refresh  and  gladden  the  homes  of  a  continent, 
80  that  'the  parched  land  shall  become  a  pool,  and  the  thirsty 


INTEODUCTION.  xix 

land  springs  of  water,  and  in  the  habitation  of  dragons,  where 
each  lay,  shall  be  grass  with  weeds  and  rushes.' 

"  But  if  I  magnify  the  office  of  a  maker  and  seller  of  a  book, 
how  much  more  the  author's.  As  Wolfe  sadly  and  sweetly 
recited  Gray's  Elegy,  upon  the  St.  Lawrence,  the  night  before 
his  glorious  fall  on  the  plains  of  Abraham,  he  said,  '  I  would 
rather  have  the  honor  of  writing  that  poem,  than  of  taking 
Quebec  to-morrow.' 

"  Were  I  to  paraphrase  his  thoughts  to  my  wish,  it  would  bo 
thus.  Could  I  have  written  the  Sketch  BooTc  (turning  to 
Mr.  Irving),  almost  every  word  of  which  I  had  by  heart,  before 
I  was  eight  years  old ;  or  could  I  have  sung  that  ode  commenc- 
ing, '  The  Groves  were  God's  first  temples'  (turning  to  Mr.  Bry- 
ant), which  I  committed  to  memory  in  a  saddle  on  a  western 
prairie,  cheerfully  would  I  go  through  life,  binding  this  badge  of 
infirmity  upon  my  brow,  to  wear  it  as  a  crown ;  or  groping  in 
the  unbroken  darkness,  so  were  it  the  Father's  will,  for  three- 
score years  and  ten  of  man's  appointed  time. 

"  But  what  though  the  Sage's  pen  and  Poet's  song  be  not 
ours  to  utter  and  to  wield !  Is  not  the  man  greater  than  the 
author  ?  Nor  is  theirs  any  ignoble  lot  who  are  called  to  learn 
and  show  that, 

'  They  also  serve,  who  only  stand  and  wait.' " 

So  much  for  what  is  peculiar  in  the  circumstances  of  the 
author  of  this  book ;  a  few  words  now  as  to  the  book  itself.  It 
purports  to  contain  "  Lectures  for  the  People,"  and  it  must  be 
judged  in  view  of  its  title.  Let  the  reader  remember,  too,  that 
Mr.  Milburn's  training  has  been  that  of  a  speaker^  not  of  a  writer ; 
that  his  culture,  self-obtained  for  the  most  part,  though  wide  and 
many-sided,  has  been  directed,  with  a  wise  economy,  to  the 
development  of  his  admirable  natural  powers  of  oratory.  In  the 
Methodist  Church,  as  is  well  known,  sermons  are  preached,  not 
read ;  and  it  is  no  part  of  the  aim  of  a  Methodist  sermon,  in  the 
proper  sense  of  the  word,  to  give  simply  intellectual  pleasure. 
The  ministers  and  people  of  that  church,  in  general,  agree  with 
WiLLiAii  Aethur  that  in  the  study  for  a  sermon,  "attention  to 
style  ought  to  be  with  a  view,  not  to  beauty,  but  to  power:" 


XX  INTRODUCTION. 

that,  in  the  pulpit,  "all  thought  of  style  is  thought  wasted,  and 
even  worse.  The  gift  of  propliesying,  in  its  very  ideal,  excludes 
relying  lor  utterance  upon  a  manuscript,  or  upon  memory.  It  is 
the  delivery  of  truth  by  the  help  of  God,"*  In  this  school  of 
preachers,  freedom  and  power  are  never  sacrificed  to  finish.  But 
in  these  very  points  of  freedom  and  power,  it  is  a  wonderful 
school ;  and  Mr.  Milburn  got  his  first  training  as  a  speaker  in  it. 
His  sermons  are  not,  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  word,  theologi- 
cal ;  indeed,  it  may  be  questioned  whetlier  a  good  sermon  ad 
populum  ever  is.  Resting  upon  a  sound  and  thorough  theologi- 
cal basis,  and  built  up,  in  all  its  parts,  in  due  relation  to  theo- 
logical system,  the  sermon  is  an  address  to  the  people,  aiming  to 
instruct,  to  convince,  to  awaken,  to  alarm,  to  encourage,  to 
soothe ;  and  it  accomplishes  these  ends  best  by  appealing  to  the 
human  heart  as  answering  to  the  grand  fundamental  facts  and 
truths  of  Christianity ;  by  bringing  its  appeals  home  to  men's 
business  and  bosoms  in  simple  "yet  earnest  and  glowing  phrase; 
by  concealing,  rather  than  revealing,  its  strictly  theological  or 
scholastic  articulations ;  and  by  drawing  its  illustrations  from 
the  field  of  nature,  from  the  records  of  history,  from  the  walks 
of  trade,  from  the  every-day  current  of  human  life  and  aftairs. 
In  this  sense  Air.  Milburn  is  a  thoroughly  eflective  preacher; 
always  earnest,  always  thoughtful,  but  never  coldly  correct  or 
artistically  dull. 

With  proper  allowance  for  differences  of  topic  and  of  aims, 
what  has  been  said  of  Mr.  Milburn's  sermons  is  true  also  of  his 
lectures.  They  are  written  not  ovl\j  for  the  ear,  but,  so  to  speak, 
"by  the  ear.  And  this  is  one  secret,  doubtless,  of  their  eminent  suc- 
cess. The  popular  lecture  is  not  an  essay,  slowly  developing  its 
lines  of  thought  from  a  central  point  in  careful  and  strictly  logi- 
cal concatenation,  admitting,  and  often  requiring,  deliberate  and 
repeated  reading  to  get  at  its  harmonious  connections,  or,  if  it  be 
of  the  lighter  sort,  to  appreciate  its  delicate  turns  of  thought  and 
niceties  of  phrase.  It  aims  rather  to  give  broad  views  that  may 
be  apprehended  by  the  liearer  as  they  fall  from  the  lips  of  the 
speaker;  to  afford  "ready-made  instruction  ;"  to  stir  up  the  hear- 

*  The  Toiifnie  of  Fire,  p.  822, 


INTRODUCTION.  XXl 

er's  mind  to  quick  yet  not  laborious  activity — an  activity  that 
sliall  cheer  and  enliven  the  intellect,  rather  than  weary  it.  Not 
that  it  is  to  be  barren  of  thought:  its  range  may  be  as  wide 
and  varied,  its  reach  even  may  be  as  profound  as  you  please,  but 
it  must  convey  thought  by  strokes,  rather  than  by  elaboration  ; 
it  must  tell  a  history  by  pictures,  rather  than  by  connected  nar- 
rative ;  its  logic  must  be  that  of  analogy  and  illustration,  rather 
than  of  obvious  syllogism ;  its  ethical  teaching  must  be  implied, 
rather  than  direct. 

Tried  by  this  standard,  the  lectures  in  this  volume  need  not 
fear  a  thorough  scrutiny.  And  when  it  is  remembered  that  this 
is  the  author's  first  appearance  before  the  public  in  print,  and 
that  he  now  appears  with  a  volume  announced  as  a  collection  of 
spoken  lectures,  the  reader  will  only  have  cause  to  wonder  at  the 
degree  of  refinement  of  style  and  elegance  of  manner,  which  the 
pages  of  the  book  display.  He  will  find  no  ambiguities  of 
phrase ;  no  wandering  or  meaningless  sentences  ;  no  paragraphs 
put  in  to  fill  up;  but  lucid  narrative,  glowing  descriptions,  ear- 
nest thought,  and  genial  feeling  everywhere. 

It  may  be  proper  to  add,  that  some  of  the  matter  of  the  fol- 
lowing pages  may  have  appeared  before ;  but,  if  so,  it  has  only 
been  in  newspaper  reports  made  from  the  old  delivery  of  the 
lectures. 

J.  McClintoce:. 

New  York,  Sept.  10, 1856. 


THE 


RIFLE,  AXE,  AND  SADDLE-BAGS 


THE    SY^VIBOLS   OF   EARLY  WESTERN   CHARACTER   AND 
CIVILIZATION. 

Man  has  been  defined  to  be  "  a  tool-nsing  animal." 
His  implements  may  be  taken  as  the  gauge  of  his 
power  and  the  measure  of  his  explorations  and  con- 
quests in  the  domain  of  nature.  Ofttimes  has  it  hap- 
pened that  the  sublimest  results  have  been  achieved 
by  the  simplest  instrumentalities.  With  the  .weak 
things  of  this  world  and  the  things  that  are  not,  hath 
God  brought  to  naught  the  things  that  are,  and  the 
things  that  are  mighty.  And  this  further  rule  holds 
goodr— in  order  to  have  work  well  done,  your  tools 
must  be  suited  to  those  who  are  to  handle  them. 
Apollo's  lyre  is  for  the  poet ;  for  the  husbandman,  the 
handles  of  the  plough.  Each  after  his  kind  fulfills  a 
noble  mission,  as  he  goes  upon  his  proper  way. 

Amid  the  evolutions  of  Providence  and  the  develop- 
ments  of  history,  the   period  had  arrived  when   a 

2  25 


26  THE   RIFLE,    AXE,    AND    SADDLE-BAGS. 

great  task  was  to  be  wrought.  That  magnificent  ter- 
ritory, named  the  Yallej  of  the  Mississippi,  sweeping 
away  from  the  foot  of  the  Apalachian  chain  for  thou- 
sands of  miles,  nntil  its  undulations  are  abruptly  ter- 
minated beneath  the  gigantic  shadows  of  the  Eocky 
Mountains — that  illimitable  prairie  ocean,  dotted 
with  innumerable  isles  of  primeval  forest,  and  with 
noble  groves  of  later  birth — ^was  to  be  wrung  from 
the  grasp  of  barbarians — was  to  be  reclaimed  from 
the  ownership  of  the  wild  beast,  and  made  the  seat 
of  the  greatest  empire  of  Christian  civilization. 

The  object  was  a  lofty  one,  worthy  the  prowess  and 
ambition  of  any  race.  Spain  had  tried  to  achieve  it, 
but  Ponce  de  Leon — typifying  Castilian  romance — 
found  in  the  attempt  only  a  death-wound,  and  his 
flower-land  of  immortality  refused  him  even  a  grave. 
Hernando  de  Soto — representing  its  chivalry — with 
steel-clad  warriors  and  doughty  men-at-arms,  with 
silken  ]3ennons  and  braided  scarfs,  with  lance,  and 
mace,  and  battle-axe,  with  blood-hounds  to  hunt  the 
natives,  and  manacles  to  enslave  them,  with  cards  for 
o:amblino:  and  consecrated  oil  for  extreme  unction, 
sought  to  subdue  the  land  and  to  possess  it.  Leaving 
a  trail  of  tears,  fire,  and  blood  from  Tampa  Bay  to 
southwestern  Missouri,  he  reared  u]3on  a  noble  bluff 
of  the  Mississippi,  in  the  northern  corner  of  what  is 
now  the  State  of  Arkansas,  the  first  cross  ever  planted 
within  the  limits  of  this  Eepublic,  and  there  per- 
fonned  the  ceremony  of  the  Mass,  sixty  years  before 
the  French  ascended  the  St.  Lawrence  River,  and 
eighty  years  before  the  Pilgrims  landed  at  Plymouth 
Rock.  Perishing  of  the  wilderness,  his  body  is  com- 
mitted to  tlie  custody  of  tha  yellow  waves  of  his  own 


FIRST   INYADEES.  27 

"  Rio  Grande" — their  roar  liis  requiem,  their  depths 
his  mausoleum,  l^ever  did  a  prouder  armament  than 
his  set  sail  from  Spain — a  thousand  brave  men  and 
true.  Three  hundred  beggared  adventurers  alone 
returned  to  Mexico,  with  tidino-s  that  broke  the  heart 
of  Donna  Isabella,  De  Soto's  noble  wife.  And  the 
land  of  the  future  is  none  the  richer  for  chivalry,  save 
by  a  sjDray  of  amaranth  and  a  sprig  of  cj^ress,  from 
the  graves  of  a  gallant  knight  and  a  true-hearted 
lady. 

Jesuitism  and  feudalism  next  sought  to  achieve 
the  conquest.  A  hundred  and  thirty  years  after  the 
burial  of  De  Soto,  the  saintly  Marquette  reaches  the 
upper  Mississippi,  through  the  outlet  of  the  "river 
of  sky-colored  water,"  and  names  it  the  River  of  the 
Conception.  Seven  years  later.  La  Salle  traversed 
the  liquid  highway  to  the  Gulf,  and  called  it  the 
River  Colbert.  The  priest  strove  to  convert  the 
savages  and  win  them  to  the  true  faith.  The  com- 
mercial soldier  sought,  by  the  erection  of  a  line,  of 
posts  from  Magara  to  the  Balize,  to  render  the  land 
tributary  to  the  crown  of  the  Grand  Monarch.  The 
Jesuit  sleeps  at  Mackinaw,  the  trader  in  the  plains  of 
Texas.  The  ambition  of  the  latter  was  as  futile  as 
the  pious  zeal  of  the  former.  E"either  for  a  fief  of 
the  See  oif  Rome,  nor  for  a  province  of  the  empire 
of  the  lilies,  had  the  land  been  held  in  reserve  by 
the  God  of  the  nations.  It  was  kept  in  store  for 
a  grander  race  than  that  from  which  Robert  Cavalier 
de  la  Salle  had  sprung — for  the  empire  of  a  simpler 
and  mightier  faith  than  that  preached  by  the  holy 
and  intrepid  James  Marquette.  The  sons  of  men 
who  won  their  liberties  at  Runnymede  ;  of  men  wlio 


28  THE   KIFLE,    AXE,    AND    SADDLE-BAGS. 

had  learned  to  read  tlie  open  English  Bible  bj  the 
light  which  God's  Spirit  had  kindled  in  their  hearts ; 
of  men  who  had  renounced  lands  and  homes  for  faith 
and  freedom  dearer  than  life,  were  to  become  the 
winners  of  this  soil.  Glorious  conscripts  were  they, 
sublime  in  their  lowliness,  fit  for  the  great  task. 
Hard  fought  was  their  battle,  and  long ;  ours  are  the 
fruits  of  their  victory.  Theii's  was  the  march  in  the 
desert ;  the  goodliness  of  the  triumph  the j  saw  only 
as  in  Pisgah's  vision;  we  dwell  in  the  peace  and 
plenty  of  the  promised  land. 

What  the  might  of  Castilian  valor,  the  unconquer- 
able devotion  of  Jesuit  zeal,  the  indomitable  will 
of  feudal  power  were  unable  to  accomplish,  was 
wrought  out  by  a  few  simj)le  men  with  a  few  homely 
tools — tools,  be  it  observed,  suited  to  their  hands. 
The  implements  are  symbolic  of  the  men  and  of 
their  period — ^the  Eifle,  Axe,  and  Saddle-bags.  They 
typify  the  hunter,  the  pioneer  farmer,  and  the  early 
travelling  preacher. 

On  a  fine  spring  morning,  in  the  year  1T69,  a 
humble  hunter  crossed  the  threshold  of  his  log  cabin, 
on  the  head  waters  of  the  Yadkin  Eiver,  in  the  prov- 
ince of  iS'orth  Carolina.  The  brutal  Governor  Tryon, 
with  his  myrmidons,  had  been  laying  waste  the  cr)un- 
try,  and  violating  the  rights  of  the  colonists.  Popu- 
lation, with  its  westward  instinct,  had  been  pressing 
into  the  neighborhood,  until  the  eye  of  the  hunter,  as 
he  stood  in  his  door-yard,  could  note  tlie  hour  of 
breakfast  by  the  smoke  from  a  score  of  chimneys. 
He  was  neither  morbid  nor  misanthropic ;  yet,  dis- 
gusted by  the  license  of  sheriiFs  and  the  tricks  of 
lawyers,  "  cabined,  cribbed,  confined,"  by  the  neigli- 


THE    UNTAMED    WILDERNESS.  29 

borhood  of  s'ettkrs,  longing  for  the  freedom  of  the 
forest  and  of  the  unbroken  prairie,  his  ear  had  wel- 
comed the  tale  of  his  friend,  John  Finlej,  who,  two 
years  before,  had  visited  a  region  called  by  the 
savages,  "  the  dark  and  bloody  groimd."  Glowing, 
indeed,  was  the  story  which  the  trader  told  of  the 
goodliness  of  the  land ;  of  its  beantiful  streams, 
clear  as  crystal ;  of  its  glorious  woods,  where  the 
wind  was  the  only  feller;  of  its  plains  which  a  share 
'had  never  fiuTowed,  covered  with  sward  freshly 
green  as  emerald,  decked  with  flowers  of  countless 
hues  and  ceaseless  fragrance  ;  of  salt  licks  visited  by 
herds  of  buffalo  which  no  man  could  number- — 
thronged  by  bear  and  deer — a  region  where  larger 
game  was  in  such  plenty,  that  the  w^oodsman  dis- 
dained to  waste  a  ball  upon  a  turkey.  Greedily  did 
the  ear  of  the  hunter  diink  in  the  tale,  great  was  the 
longing  of  his  heart  that  his  eye  might  look  upon  the 
land,  and  his  foot  press  its  virgin  soil.  Much  does 
he  brood  and  dream  in  the  two  long  years,  from  '67 
to  '69,  amid  his  solitary  hunts  and  rambles,  of  this 
new  2)aradise.  His  desire  has  ripened  into  a  passion, 
and  now,  on  this  bright  May  morning,  his  plough  is 
forsaken  in  the  middle  of  the  furrow,  his  team  is  left 
afield.  Hastening  to  his  cabin,  his  rifle  is  snatched 
from  its  pegs,  a  store  of  powder  and  bullets  provided, 
his  knapsack  filled  with  "dodgers,"  and  strapped 
upon  his  shoulders ;  and  here,  outside  the  door,  he 
stands,  beneath  the  shadow  of  a  spreading  tree  ;  his 
tall  and  manly  form  cased  in  buckskin,  his  face 
bronzed  by  wind,  and  sun,  and  storm ;  silent  as  an 
Indian,  agile  as  a  deer,  tough  as  a  panther.  Around 
that  man's  name  time  has  summoned  the  surviving 


30  THE   RIFLE,    AXE,    AJS^D    SADDLE-BAGS. 

arts  to  do  him  honor  and  homage.  The  sculptor  has 
inYoked  the  chisel  and  the  imperishable  marble  to 
perpetuate  his  form.  The  painter  has  employed 
color  and  canvas  to  transmit  his  look  and  features. 
History,  with  her  iron  pen  and  adamantine  tablet, 
has  come  to  write  his  fame ;  and  poetry,  divinest  of 
them  all,  has  laid  upon  his  brow  the  perennial  gar- 
land of  song.  But  he  is  sad.  While  the  hunter 
longs  for  the  forest,  has  not  the  father  and  the  hus- 
band a  heart  ?  Wife  and  children  are  near  at  hand' 
to  say  good-bye,  perhaps  for  ever.  Tears  overflow 
the  eye,  unused  to  weep.  A  hasty  farewell,  and  he 
is  gone.  A  toilsome  march  of  six  weeks,  with  five  com- 
panions, across  the  Alleghanies,  through  the  valleys 
of  the  Clinch  and  the  Holston,  over  the  Cumberland 
range,  and  his  goal  is  gained.  Is  it  not  an  Eden,  this 
/and  upon  which  his  eye  now  rests  ?  A  more  glorious 
realm  the  foot  of  man  hath  never  trod  since  Joshua 
crossed  the  Jordan.  A  great  joy  dwells  in  the  heart 
of  Daniel  Boone,  for  the  half  had  not  been  told  him. 
Our  backwoodsmen  enjoy  a  hunt  of  six  months 
and  a  half,  when  Boone  and  one  of  his  companions, 
William  Stewart,  are  taken  prisoners  by  a  band  of 
savages.  A  week's  captivity,  and  they  escape.  Soon 
afterwards  Stewart  is  shot  by  the  savages.  The 
others  of  the  party,  intimidated,  resolve  instantly  to 
retreat ;  not  so  Boone.  He  has  come  to  see  the  land 
from  end  to  end,  nor  will  he  falter,  whate'er  betide, 
until  the  end  be  reached.  They  go,  but  he  remains. 
He  is  the  one  white  man  who  dares  to  trust  himself 
alone  with  Nature.  We  call  him  a  backwoods 
hunter;  is  he  not  a  kind  of  poet  too,  whose  song 
reaches  none  but  his    own    heart?    That  incense- 


DANIEL   BOONE.  31 

breatliing  atmospliere  fills  him  with  unspoken  glad- 
ness, the  early  morn  blushes  him  a  greeting,  mid- 
day paints  the  world  with  splendor  .for  the  wayfarer, 
and  the  gorgeous  hues  of  sunset  are  gathered  up  and 
thrown 'around  his  path,  as  if  the  parting  day  would 
smile  him  to  his  rest.  The  green  savannah  spreads 
beneath  his  glance  until  its  verdant  edge  blends  with 
the  soft  lio^ht  of  the  horizon.  Here  the  tall  shafts  of 
majestic  trees  tell  whence  came  the  architecture  of 
Gothic  churches.  Pebbly  brooks  lift  their  sweet 
voices  to  his  ear ;  while  the  face  of  creek  and  river 
wears  the  sheen  of  molten  silver.  Is  not  this  an 
apocalyptic  vision  for  the  wanderer  ? 

Partly  alone,  partly  accompanied  by  his  brother, 
he  spies  out  the  riches  of  the  land.  He  has  need  to 
be  wary,  for  sleepless  enemies  are  seeking  him,  but 
he  eludes  their  lynx-eyed  vigilance.  The  woods  and 
meadows  of  Kentucky  are  sown  with  a  peculiar  thistle 
which  long  retains  the  imprint  of  a  foot.  The 
Indians,  in  large  j)arties,  do  not  seek  to  conceal  their 
trail.  Boone  and  his  brother,  avoiding  this  tell-tale 
weed,  completely  obliterated  their  own  footprints. 
The  earth  is  bare  to  the  eye  of  the  savages.  To  the 
tutored  gaze  of  the  white  men  it  is  as  if  covered  with 
snow,  revealing  the  presence  and  number  of  their 
enemies.  Thus  are  two  years  spent  by  our  hardy 
yeomen,  pioneers  of  the  Anglo-American  family. 

Two  years  and  a  half  more  are  dreamed  and 
hunted  away  by  Boone  upon  the  Yadkin,  until,  in 
September,  1773,  with  a  company  of  six  families  and 
forty  armed  men,  he  starts  to  take  possession  of  his 
paradise.  The  teams  are  slowly  laboring  up  the  dif- 
ficult side  of  Cumberland  Gap,  when,  unexpected  as 


32  TIiE   RIFLE,    AXE,    AND    SADDLE-BAGS. 

a  bolt  frojii  a  cloudless  heaven,  an  iron  sleet  falls 
upon  the  movers'  rear,  from  an  Indian  ambuscade. 
The  savages  are  instantly  routed  ;  but  six  whites  are 
slain,  among  whom  is  Boone's  eldest  son — ^first  fruits 
of  the  fearful  harvest  which  war  must  reap  and 
garner  before  peace  can  assert  and  maintain  its  title 
to  Kentucky  and  the  West.  Thus  far  in  history  man's 
right  to  all  his  best  possessions  has  been  written  in 
blood.  Well  had  the  Indians  named  their  choicest 
hunting  grounds  the  "  dark  and  bloody  land."  Thus 
shall  it  be  for  the  Americans,  also,  for  many  a  sad 
year  to  come.  For  more  than  twenty  years — from 
the  delivery  of  that  fatal  volley,  in  1TY3,  until 
Wayne's  treaty,  in  1Y95 — the  din  of  war  was  never 
hushed  upon  the  frontier.  It  is  not  my  purpose  to 
trace  the  eventful  story  of  Daniel  Boone,  nor  to  por- 
tray the  growth  and  spread  of  American  society  in 
the  West.  My  design  is  neither  biographic  nor  his- 
torical, but  simply  to  present  a  series  of  pictures 
which  shall  delineate  the  character  of  the  people,  and 
the  lives  they  lived. 


.  THE   KIFLE. 

The  following  stoiy  illustrates  the  historical  period 
of  which  I  take  the  Kifle  for  the  symbol. 

As  early  as  the  year  1790,  the  block  house  and 
stockade,  just  above  the  mouth  of  the  Hockho eking 
River,  constituted  a  frontier  post  for  the  hardy  pio- 
neers of  the  Korthwestern  territory.  Among  the 
most  luxuriant  of  the  many  beautiful  prairies  of  that 
region,  were  those  which  lay  along  the  Hockhocking 
valley,  and  especially  that  portion  of  it  in  which  the 
town  of  Lancaster  now  stands.  This  neighborhood, 
on  account  of  its  beauty,  richness  of  soil,  and  pic- 
turesque o^enery,  had  been  selected  as  the  site  of  an 
Indian  village.  It  afforded  a  suitable  place  for  the 
gambols  of  the  Indian  children,  as  well  as  the  central 
point  for  assembling  the  Indian  warriors.  Here  the 
tribes  of  the  West  and  North  met  in  council,  and  from 
this  spot  they  went  forth  upon  the  war-path  in  differ- 
ent directions.  Upon  one  of  those  occasions,  when 
the  war-spirit  moved  mightily  among  those  sons  of 
nature,  when  the  tomahawk  leaped  in  its  belt,  and 
the  spirits  of  their  friends,  slain  on  the  field  of  battle, 
visited  the  warrior  in  his  night- vision,  and  called  upon 
him  to  rouse  and  avenge  them,  it  was  ascertained  at 
the  garrison  above  the  mouth  of  the  Hockhocking, 


34:  THE   RIFLE,    AXE,    AND    SADDLE-BAGS. 

that  the  Indians  were  gathering  in  great  numbers  for 
the  purpose  of  striking  a  blow  on  some  pai-t  of  the 
frontiers.  To  meet  this  crisis,  two  of  the  most  skillful 
and  indefatigable  spi^s  were  dispatched  to  watch  their 
movements  and  report. 

White  and  McClelland,  two  of  the  most  expe- 
rienced scouts  at  the  post,  on  a  balmy  Indian  summer 
day,  took  leave  of  their  fellows,  and  set  out  on  this 
hazardous  enterprise.  With  stealthy  step  they  skirted 
the  prairies,  and  successfully  prosecuted  their  hidden 
march,  until  they  reached  that  remarkable  promi- 
nence, now  known  as- Point  Pleasant,  which  stretches, 
an  isolated  promontory,  into  the  valley,  from  the  east- 
ern side ;  its  western  termination  rising  abruptly  from 
the  river's  edge,  in  a  perpendicular  cliff  several  hun- 
dred feet  high,  and  its  bare  and  lofty  summit  com- 
manding a  wide  prospect  over  the  extensive  bottom. 
This  point  being  gained,  the  spies  could  see  every 
movement  of  the  savages  in  the  valley  below.  From 
their  hiding-place,  on  the  crest  of  the  bluff,  they  daily 
looked  down  upon  the  Indian  village  in  the  meadows 
near  the  northern  base,  and  upon  the  booths  around 
it,  erected  for  tlie  use  of  the  war-parties,  successively 
arriving.  They  watched  the  3'ounger  warriors,  engaged 
in  horse-racing,  foot-racing,  leaping,  tomahawk-throw- 
ing, or  performing  the  wild  ceremony  of  the  war- 
dance  ;  while  the  sachems  and  old  men  looked  on 
with  Indian  indifference,  the  squaws  passed  to  and 
fro  on  the  errands  of  their  usual  drudgery,  and  the 
cliiMren  ran  and  gambolled  hither  and  thither  among 
the  huts.  The  whoops  and  shouts  of  tlie  young  men 
rose  to  their  ears,  mingled  with  the  musical  laughter 
of  the  more  youthful  squaws,  and  the  shrill  and  dis- 


WHITE  AND  McClelland.  35 

sonant  voices  of  the  feminine  elders.     The  arrival  of 
every  new  war-party  was  greeted  with  terrific  yells, 
which,  striking  the  mural  face  of  Moimt  Pleasant, 
were  driven  back  by  the  various  indentations  of  the 
bluffs  beyond  the  valley,  producing  reverberations 
and  echoes  as  if  ten  thousand  fiends  were  gathered 
at  a  festival.     Such  yells  would  have  struck  terror  to 
the  hearts  of  those  unaccustomed  to  Indian  revelry. 
To  our  spies,  however,  they  were  but  martial  music ; 
strains  which  waked  their  watchfulness,  and  newly 
strung  their   veteran    courage.     From    their   early 
youth  they  had  been  on  the  frontier,  and  were  well 
practised  in   all  the   subtleties  of   Indian  warfare, 
lliey  were,  therefore,  not  likely'  to  be  ensnared  by 
their  cimning,' nor,  without  a  desperate  conflict  to  fall 
victims   to   the   scalping-knife    or'  tomahawk.       On 
several  occasions  small  parties  left  the  prairie,  and 
ascended  the  mount  from  the  eastern  side.     At  such 
times  the  spies  secreted  themselves  in  the  deep  fis- 
sures of  the  rocks  on  the  west,  coming  forth  from 
their  hiding-places  when  their  unwelcome  visitors 
had  disappeared.  . 

For  food  they  depended  on  jerked  venison  and 
corn-bread,  with  which  their  knapsacks  were  well 
stored.  They  dared  not  kindle  a  fire  ;  and  the  report 
of  one  of  their  guns  would  have  brought  upon  them 
the  entire  force  of  the  Indians.  For  drink  they  used 
the  rain  water  which  stood  here  and  there  in  the 
hollows  of  the  rocks ;  but  in  a  short  time  this  store 
was  exhausted,  and  McClelland  and  White  fonnd 
that  they  must  abandon  their  enterprise  or  obtain  a 
new  supply.  McClelland,  being  the  oldest,  resolved 
to  make  the  dangerous  attempt ;  and  with  his  rifle  in 


36  THE    KIFLE,    AXE,    AND    SADDLE-BAGS. 

his  hand,  and  theii*  two  canteens  strung  across  his 
shoulders,  he  cautiously  descended,  bj  a  cii*cuitous 
route,  to  the  prairie,  skirting  the  hills  on  the  north ; 
under  cover  of  the  hazel  bushes,  he  reached  the 
river,  and  turning  a  bold  point  of  a  hill,  found  a 
beautiful  spring  within  a  few  feet  of  the  bank,  now 
known  by  the  name  of  ''  Cold  Spring."  He  speed- 
ily filled  his  canteens  and  returned  in  safety  to  his 
companion.  It  was  hereupon  determined  to  have  a 
fresh  supply  of  water  every  day,  and  the  duty  of 
bringing  it  was  performed  alternately. 

One  day,  after  White  had  filled  his  canteens,  he 
sat  a  few  moments  watching  the  limpid  element  as  it 
came  bubbling  out  of  the  bosom  of  the  earth,  when 
the  light  sound  of  footsteps  caught  his  practised  ear, 
and  upon  turning  round,  he  saw  two  squaws  within 
a  few  feet  of  him.  Upon  turning  the  point  of  the 
hill,  the  eldest  squaw,  seeing  him,  gave  one  of  those 
far-reaching  whoops  peculiar  to  Indians.  White  at 
once  comprehended  his  perilous  situation.  K  the 
alarm  should  reach  the  camps  or  the  town,  he  and 
his  companion  must  inevitably  perish.  Self-preserva- 
tion compelled  him  to  inflict  a  noiseless  death  upon 
the  squaws,  and  in  such  a  manner,  if  possible,  as  to 
leave  no  trace  behind.  Eapid  in  thought,  and  j)rompt 
in  action,  lie  instantly  sprang  upon  his  victims,  and, 
grasping  the  throat  of  each,  jumped  into  the  river. 
He  thrust  the  head  of  the  eldest  under  water ;  but 
while  making  strong  efforts  to  submerge  the  other, 
who  powerfully  resisted  him,  what  was  his  astonish- 
ment to  hear  her  address  him  in  his  own  language, 
though  in  almost  inarticulate  sounds.  Keleasing  his 
hold,  she  informed  him  that  she  had  been  a  captive 


THE   FEMALE   CAPTIVE.  37 

for  ten  years,  and  was  taken  from  below  Wheeling ; 
that  the  Indians  had  killed  all  her  family,  and  that 
her  brother  and  herself  were  taken  prisoners,  but  that 
he  succeeded  in  making  his  escape  on  the  second 
night  after  he  was  taken.  Dming  this  narrative 
White  had  drowned  the  elder  sqnaw,  and  had  let  her 
float  off  with  the  current.  He  then  directed  the  girl 
to  follow  him,  and  pushed  rapidly  for  the  mount. 
They  had  scarcely  gone  half-way,  when  they  heard 
the  alarm-cry  a  quarter  of  a  mile  down  the  stream. 
A  party  of  Indians,  returning  from  a  hunting-excur- 
sion, had  reached  the  river  just  as  the  body  of  the 
squaw  floated  by.  AVhite  and  the  girl  succeeded  in 
reaching  the  summit,  where  McClelland  had  been  no 
indifl'erent  spectator  of  the  commotion  among  the 
Indians.  Parties  of  warriors  had  struck  off  in  all 
directions ;  and  White  and  the  girl  had  scarcely 
arrived,  before  a  band  of  about  twenty  had  reached 
the  eastern  declivity  of  the  mount,  and  had  com- 
menced the  ascent,  cautiously  keeping  under  cover. 
The  spies  watched  their  swarthy  foes  as  they  glided 
from  tree  to  tree,  and  rock  to  rock,  until  their  position 
was  surrounded,  except  on  the  perpendicular  side  to 
the  westward,  and  all  hope  of  escape  was  cut  off.  In 
this  perilous  condition  nothing  was  left  but  to  sell 
their  lives  as  dearly  as  possible,  and  this  they  resolved 
to  do ;  advising  the  girl  to  escape  to  the  Indians  and 
tell  them  that  she  had  been  taken  prisoner.  This, 
however,  she  refused  to  do,  and  insisted  upon  remain- 
ing with  them,  assuring  them  that  she  was  a  good 
shot,  and  begging  to  be  furnished  with  a  rifle,  which, 
however,  they  were  unable  to  supply. 
The  two  spies,  though  so  far  outnumbered,  were 


38 


admirably  posted.  The  very  rocky  and  broken  sur- 
face of  the  summit  of  the  hill,  served  to  prevent  the 
Indians  from  discovering  the  number  of  men  that 
held  it ;  while,  from  the  nature  of  the  ground  below, 
no  savage  could  advance  beyond  a  certain  line  with- 
out becoming  exposed  to  the  aim  of  the  unknown 
marksmen  above.  Beyond  this  space,  the  warriors 
availed  themselves  of  the  rocks  and  trees  in  advancr 
ing ;  but  in  passing  from  one  side  of  it  to  the  other, 
the}^  must  be  exposed  for  a  short  time  ;  and  a  moment 
was  enough  for  the  unerring  rifles  of  the  spies.  The 
Indians,  being  entirely  ignorant  of  the  number  of 
their  adversaries  in  ambuscade,  were  ,the  more  cau- 
tious in  their  approach. 

While  bravely  maintaining  the  fight  in  front,  and 
keeping  the  enemy  in  check,  the  whites  discovered  a 
new  danger.  The  foe  were  evidently  preparing  to 
attack  them  on  the  flank ;  which  could  most  success- 
fully be  done  by  reaching  an  isolated  rock  lying  in 
one  of  the  ravines  on  the  southern  side  of  the  hill. 
This  rock  once  gained  by  the  Indians,  they  could 
bring  the  spies  under  point  blank  shot  of  their  rifles, 
without  the  possibility  of  escape.  The  two  scouts  saw 
the  hopelessness  of  their  situation ;  for  only  a  brave 
companion  and  unerring  shot  could  avert  the  peril. 
Nevertheless,  with  characteristic  coolness,  they  con- 
tinued their  defence,  and,  calculating  the  additional 
chances  against  them,  endeavored,  as  far  as  possible, 
to  provide  for  the  new  emergency. 

McClelland  saw  a  tall  and  swarthy  warrior  prepar- 
ing to  spring  from  a  covert,  so  near  to  the  fotal  rock 
that  a  b(')und  or  two  would  I'eacli  it,  and  all  hope  of 
life  would  then  be  gone.     He  felt  that  all  depended 


THE   MYSTERIOUS    SHOT.  39 

upon  one  successful  shot,  and  although  but  an  inch 
or  two  of  the  warrior's  body  was  exposed,  and  that 
at  a  distance  of  eighty  or  a  hundred  yards,  he  resolved 
to  risk  all ;  and  coolly  raising  his  rifle  to  his  face,  and 
shading  the  sights  with  his  hand,  he  drew  a  bead  so 
sure  that  he  felt  confident  it  would  do  execution.  He 
touched  the  trigger — the  hammer  came  down — but 
instead  of  striking  fire  it  broke  the  flint  to  pieces. 
Although  he  felt  assured  that  the  Indian  must  reach 
the  rock  before  he  could  adjust  another  flint,  he 
nevertheless  coolly  proceeded  to  the  task,  casting  his 
eye  towards  the  fearful  point.  Suddenly  he  saw  the 
warrior  straining  every  muscle  for  the  leap,  and  with 
the  agility  of  a  panther  he  made  the  spring,  but 
instead  of  reaching  the  rock  he  gave  a  hideous  yell, 
and  his  dark  body  rolled  lifeless  down  the  steep  into 
the  valley  below.  -He  had  received  a  death  shot 
from  some  unknown  hand.  A.  hundred  voices 
re-echoed  from  below  the  terrible  shout.  It  was 
evident  that  they  had  both  lost  a  favorite  warrior 
and  been  disappointed  in  an  important  movement. 
The  respite  was  of  short  duration.  In  a  few  minutes 
the  spies  caught  a  glimpse  of  another  athletic  savage 
cautiously  advancing  to  the  covert  recently  occupied 
by  his  companion.  At  the  same  time  the  attack  in 
front  was  renewed  with  increased  fury,  so  as  to 
require  the  incessant  fire  of  both  spies  to  prevent  the 
Indians  from  gaining  the  eminence.  McClelland 
saw  the  warrior  preparing  for  the  fatal  spring.  The 
leap  was  made,  and  the  Indian  turning  a  somerset, 
his  corpse  rolled  down  the  mountain  side  towards 
that  of  his  companion.  Again  some  unknown  agent 
had  interposed  in  their  behalf.     Tliis  second  sacrifice 


40  THE   KIFLE,    AXE,    AJS^D   SADDLE-BAGS. 

cast  dismay  into  the  ranks  of  the  assailants,  and  just 
as  the  sun  was  disappearing  behind  the  western  hills, 
the  foe  withdrew,  to  devise  some  new  mode  of  attack. 
This  intermission  came  most  seasonably  to  the  spies, 
who  had  kept  their  ground  and  bravely  maintained 
the  unequal  fight  from  nearly  the  middle  of  the  day. 

JSTow  for  the  first  time  the  spies  observed  that  the 
girl  was  missing ;  they  were  conjecturing  that  through 
terror  she  had  escaped  to  her  former  captors,  or  that 
she  had  been  killed  during  the  fight ;  but  she  was  soon 
seen  emerging  from  behind  a  rock,  and  coming 
toward  them  with  a  rifle  in  her  hand.  During  the 
heat  of  the  fight  she  saw  a  warrior  fall,  who  had 
advanced  some  distance  before  the  rest,  and  while 
some  of  them  changed  their  position,  she  resolved  at 
once  to  secure  his  gun  and  ammunition  ;  and  crouch- 
ing down  beneath  the  underbrush,  she  crawled  to  the 
place  and  succeeded  in  her  enterprise.  Her  keen 
and  watchful  eye  had  early  noticed  the  fatal  rock, 
and  hers  was  the  unseen  hand  by  which  the  warriors 
fell.  The  last  was  the  most  intrepid  and  blood- 
thirsty of  the  Shawnee  tribe,  and  the  leader  of  the 
company  which  killed  her  mother  and  sisters  and 
took  her  and  her  brother  prisoners. 

Isow  in  the  west  rose  dark  clouds  which  soon  over- 
spread the.  whole  heavens,  and  the  hoarse  muttering 
of  distant  thunder  foretold  a  coming  storm.  Thick 
darkness  shrouded  the  earth,  and  greatly  embarrassed 
the  S2>ie3  with  the  dread  that  in  their  contemplated 
night  escape,  they  might  lose  their  way,  and  acci- 
dentally fall  into  the  hands  of  their  enemy.  Upon 
short  consultation,  it  was  agreed  that  the  girl  should 
go  foremost,  both  on  account  of  her  knowledge  of  the 


A   NAEEOW   ESCAPE.  41 

localities,  and  as  a  protection  in  case  of  falling  in  with 
any  parties  or  ontposts ;  since  from  her  knowledge  of 
the  Indian  language,  she  conld  readily  deceive  the 
sentinels.  They  had  scarcely  reached  the  eastern  base 
of  the  mount,  before  they  heard  a  low  "whis?it^^  from 
their  guide.  At  this  they  sank  silently  on  the  ground, 
where,  by  previous  arrangement,  they  were  to  remain 
until  the  signal  was  given  to  move  on.  Her  absence 
for  the  space  of  a  quarter  of  an  horn*  began  to  excite 
suspicion  that  all  was  not  right,  but  they  were  relieved 
by  her  return,  when  she  informed  them  that  she  had 
succeeded  in  removing  two  sentinels,  who  were  imme- 
diately in  their  route,  a  short  distance  ahead.  The 
descent  was  noiselessly  resumed,  and  the  spies  followed 
their  intrepid  leader  for  half  a  mile  in  the  most  pro- 
found silence,  when  the  barking  of  a  dog  at  a  short 
distance  apprised  them  of  new  danger.  The  almost 
simultaneous  click  of  the  spies'  triggers  was  heard  by 
the  girl,  who  gave  another  significant  '-^wliiskt^'*  and 
whispered  that  they  were  now  in  the  very  midst  of 
the  Indian  camps,  and  that  their  lives  depended  on 
maintaining  the  most  profound  silence.  Implicitly 
obeying  her  directions,  and  following  her  footsteps, 
they  proceeded,  but  had  not  gone  far  before  the  girl 
was  accosted  by  a  squaw  from  an  opening  in  a  wigwam. 
To  the  salutation,  the  girl  replied  in  the  Indian  lan- 
guage, and  pressed  on.  In  a  short  time,  she  stopped, 
and  turning,  informed  them  that  they  had  left  the 
camps,  and  were  out  of  the  greatest  danger.  She 
knew  that  every  pass  was  guarded  by  the  Indians, 
and  had  resolved  to  adopt  the  bold  measure  of  passing 
through  the  centre  -of  their  encampment  as  least 
hazardous,  and  the  sequel  proved  the  correctness  of 


42  THE   KIFLE,    AXE,    AND    SADDLE-BAGS. 

her  judgment.  They  now  directed  their  coiu'se  for 
the  Ohio  river,  and  after  three  days'  travel,  arrived 
safe  at  the  block  house.  Their  escape  prevented  the 
Indians  from  their  contemplated  attack,  and  the 
rescued  girl  proved  to  be  the  sister  of  the  intrepid 
Cornelius  Washbmn,  celebrated  in  the  history  of 
Indian  warfare,  and  the  renowned  spy  of  Captain 
Simon  Kenton's  bloody  Kentuckians. 

Such  was  the  mettle  of  the  j)eople,  and  such  were 
the  di-amatic  incidents  with  which  their  lives  were 
interspersed. 

It  was  a  period  for  the  ascendency  of  Young 
America.  I  do  not  mean  the  thing  which  has  been 
introduced  to  us  by  the  satu-ists,  under  this  title. 
In  this  time  of  ours,  when  the  sexes  seem  undergoing 
a  transmigration,  at  least  when  the  distinctions  of 
their  apparel  are  destroyed;  when  the  women  are 
doing  in  public  what  they  have  been  so  long  accus- 
tomed to  in  private — wearing  the  pantaloons;  and 
the  stronger  sex,  by  way  of  retaliation,  have  stolen 
their  shawls — you  may  note  upon  Broadway,  or  the 
promenade  of  any  of  our  principal  cities,  a  dapper, 
diminutive  thing,  which  seems  to  possess  some  fea- 
tm-es  of  both  sexes,  and  yet  the  distinctions  of  neither. 
Its  legs  remind  you  of  j)ipe-stems,  its  arms  of  oaten 
sti-aws.  It  ogles  every  woman  that  it  meets — staring 
with  brazen-faced  impudence,  till  she,  from  very 
shame,  must  di*op  her  eyelids,  to  shut  out  this  appari- 
tion— half  brute,  half  baby.  It  talks  magniloquently 
of  first  circles,  and  old  families,  until  you  fancy  that 
its  lineage  dates  from  Doomsday  Book ;  yet  its 
father — excellent  and  wortliy  man — began  life  as  an 
obscure  tailor,  or  shoemaker,  or  brick-layer,  and  by 


THE  KEAL  TOUKG  AMERICA.  43 

the  use  of  such  gifts  as  he  had,  by  his  industry,  econ- 
omy, and  enterprise,  has  achieved  fortune  and  social 
position,  and  is  now  enjoying  as  he  should  the  fruits 
of  his  labor.  He  is  a  notable  man,  but  unfortunately 
does  not  know  how  to  raise  boys.  Our  dandy,  in 
childhood,  is  dismissed  from  school  as  a  dunce;  in 
youth,  is  ex]3elled  from  college  as  a  rowdy.  He  goes 
to  Europe  to  finish  his  education;  sleeps  at  all  tlie 
places  of  pictm-esque,  romantic,  and  historic  interest ; 
nods  in  the  Vatican ;  votes  St.  Peter's  a  bore,  because 
it  is  so  big;  spends  most  of  his  time  and  money  in 
Paris ;  boasts  of  his  exploits  with  the  nymphs  of  the 
ballet  and  the  Opera — ^to  wit,  the  chamber-maids  at  his 
lodging-houses.  Retiu-ning  home,  he  folds  his  arms 
upon  his  breast,  and  with  a  saddened  self-complacency, 
pronounces  this  a  wooden  country,  not  fit  for  a  gen- 
tleman to  live  in.  Henceforth,  he  aspii'es  to  become 
a  connoisseur  of  horse-flesh,  an  amateur  in  cigars, 
brandy-smashes,  and  gin  cock-tails;  whilst  his  lofty 
ambition  is  appeased  in  that  he  is  a  peripatetic 
advertisement  for  tailors  and  washer-women.  Do 
you  call  that  thing  Young  America?  This  is  a  dis-. 
graceful  use  of  words.  It  has  never  been  young  since 
it  was  a  baby ;  and  as  to  there  being  anything  Ame- 
rican about  it,  I  repudiate  the  implication  with  scorn. 
That  whereof  I  speak  under  this  designation,  was 
all  muscle,  nerve,  backbone.  Take  an  illustration. 
A  lad,  thirteen  years  of  age,  was  sent  by  his  father 
on  the  northern  border  of  Kentucky,  to  look  for  the 
cows  which  had  strayed  into  the  woods.  The  coun- 
ti*y  was  infested  by  the  savages ;  so  the  boy  picked 
his  steps,  and  kept  his  rifle  ready.  A  well-known 
scout,  who  had  been  out  lying  on  the  trail  of  the 


44:  THE   EEFLE,    AXE,    AND    SADDLE-BAGS. 

Indians,  and,  for  tlie  greater  success  of  his  mission, 
was  so  painted  and  feathered  that  the  most  j^ractised 
eye  could  not  distinguish  him  from  a  savage,  saw  the 
lad,  and  thought  to  enjoy  a  little  fun  at  his  expense- 
Sounding  the  shrill  war-whoop,  he  sprang  behind  a 
tree,  supposing  the  urchin  would  run  away ;  but  real 
Young  America  does  not  run  from  danger.  The  boy 
treed  too.  The  scout,  peeping  out  to  see,  as  he  sup- 
posed, the  receding  back  and  flying  heels  of  the 
youngster,  received  a  bullet  in  his  brains,  and  fell  a 
sacrifice — not  to  the  cowardice  of  Young  America. 

Boys  of  thirteen  did  good  service  in  the  comitry's 
cause.  Eoys  of  fifteen  were  mustered  into  the  ranks  as 
soldiers..  Boys  of  seventeen  ambled  as  peaceably 
in  the  harness  of  Hymen  as  oui*  bachelors  of  forty 
now  do. 

But  the  fighting  times  cannot  always  last.  The 
Indian  must  submit  to  his  destiny,  and  vanish  from 
the  presence  of  the  whites.  His  doom  is  to  follow 
his  buflalo  to  the  West.  When  the  buffalo  is  broken 
to  become  the  yoke-fellow  of  the  ox,  the  Indian  may 
rest  where  he  stands,  or  return  toward  the  rising  sun. 
The  aboriginal  bison  and  red  man  alike  refuse  the 
burden  of  labor;  together  they  must  perish. 

Although  war  no  longer  invokes  the  rifle,  it  is 
retained  in  constant  use.  To  this  day  there  is  a  law 
upon  the  statute  book  of  Kentucky — unless  repealed 
within  a  year  or  two — requiring  that  every  male 
citizen  between  the  ages  of  sixteen  and  forty-five, 
shaU,  within  every  twelvemonth,  kill  a  certain 
number  of  crows  and  squirrels.  So  it  has  passed 
into  a  proverb,  that  a  Kentuckian  is  a  dead  shot  on  a 
squirrel's  eye  with  a  rifle  at  a  hundi-ed  yards. 


11. 

THE    AXE. 

But  now  there  comes  to  be  associated  with  the 
gun  another  implement,  homely  enough,  but  which 
has  played  a  conspicuous  part  in  the  drama  of 
American  civilization.     It  is  the  Yankee  axe. 

Perhaps  I  may  give  a  sufficiently  graphic  picture 
of  society  during  the  axe  period  of  the  country's 
history,  by  a  series  of  sketches  relating  to  an  event 
of  perennial  interest  to  humanity.  Will  you  have  a 
description  of  a  western  wedding  in  the  quaint  old 
days  of  pioneer  life  ? 

Early  on  a  fine  morning,  there  rides  up  to  the  door 
of  a  log-cabin,  one  of  om*  Young  American  friends, 
about  eighteen  years  of  age,  on  his  father's  best 
horse  and  best  saddle ^ — if  that  worthy  gentleman 
own  a  saddle — the  likelihood  is  that  it  is  nothing  but  a 
blanket.  In  the  door  stands  a  .  blithe  and  buxom 
lassie  of  fifteen  summers,  but  fuUy  grown  and  finely 
moulded.  Saluting  lier  frankly,  he  presents  his 
horse  fail*  to  her.  Without  recourse  to  block  or 
stile,  she  lays  one  hand  confidingly  on  his  knee,  the 
other  on  the  horse's  rum^),  and  throws  herself  grace- 
fully into  the  pillion  behind  him.  Thus  riding 
double,  they  start  for  the  parson's,  three  or  four  of 
of  his  male  friends  bearing  them  company.     There 


46  THE   EIFLE,    AXE,    AND    SADDLE-BAGS. 

are  no  roads  except  bridle-paths,  and  thej  therefore 
ride  in  Indian  file.  The  old  fighting  times  have 
tanght  them  one  good  lesson,  to  hold  their  tongues 
unless  they  have  something  to  say;  hence  the  party 
is  a  silent  one.  Half  a  dozen  or  a  dozen  miles  are 
passed,  when  a  clearing  in  the  woods  is  gained,  in 
the  centre  of  which  stands  a  lowly  cabin.  In  its 
door  yon  shall  see  one,  two,  three,  four — as  it  were, 
a  series  of  short  steps — of  tow-headed  urchins,  who 
announce  to  the  inmates  the  approach  of  the 
comj)any.  The  foremost  rider  gives  the  customary 
hail,  "Hillo,  the  house  there."  In  obedience  to  this 
summons  there  appears  upon  the  threshold  a  large, 
raw-boned  gentleman,  not  in  cassock,  bands  and  sur- 
plice, not  even  in  clerical  black,  but  in  a  linsey-wool- 
sey or  buckskin  hunting-shirt.  Seeing  the  strangers, 
he  courteously  invites  them  to  alight  and  come  in. 
Before  this  invitation  is  complied  with,  however,  the 
candidate  for  matrimonial  honors  inquires,  is  the  par- 
son at  home?  His  interlocutor  responds  that  he  is 
that  person.  Whereupon  the  young  man  annomicea, 
"  You  see,  this  young  woman  and  me  have  come  here 
to  git  married;  kin  you  do  it?" 

"Well,  I  reckon." 

"Well,  we're  in  a  great  hurry,  kin  you  do  it 
quick?" 

"Certainly." 

The  ceremony  is  proceeded  with  as  regularly  as  if 
it  were  in  a  cathedral.  The  young  people's  hands 
are  joined,  and  the  good  man's  benediction  is  given 
as  he  pronounces  them  man  and  wife.  The  new  hus- 
band asks, 

"Is  that  all,  parson?" 


A.   BACKWOODS   MARRIAGE.  47 

"That's  all  I  can  do  for  yon." 

Straightening  to  his  full  height  with  great  dignity, 
the  yonng  man  inquires, 

"Well,  parson,  what's  the  damage?" 

Parsons  are  modest  men.  With  a  blush  and  a 
stammer,  our  clerical  friend  intimates  that  the  less 
said  upon  that  subject  the  better. 

"  Oh,  no,  parson,"  responds  the  young  backwoods- 
man. "  I  wish  you  to  understand  that  I  don't  choose 
to  begin  life  on  tick." 

Simple  folk  that  they  were,  they  held  that  a  wife 
who  was  not  worth  paying  the  parson  for,  was  not 
worth  having.  Thus  urged,  the  clergyman  signi- 
fies, 

"Anything  that  is  pleasant  to  yon  is  agreeable 
to  me." 

Whereupon  the  young  husband  requests  one  of  his 
friends  "  to  fetch  it  in  oiF  the  horse's  neck." 

Doubtless,  the  wisest  of  you,  if  you  have  never 
lived  upon  the  frontier,  would  be  puzzled  to  tell 
what  that  is  on  the  horse's  neck.  It  turns  out  to  be 
a  com-shuch  horse-collar.  This  is  the  parson's  fee, 
and  right  glad  he  is  to  get  it. 

The  bridal  train  return  as  they  have  come,  imtil 
within  a  half  mile  of  the  bride's  father's  cabin,  when 
all  the  young  men  of  the  party,  save  tlie  one  with 
the  lady  behind,  start  at  a  helter-skelter  gallop  through 
the  woods,  dodging  the  limbs,  jumping  the  fallen  trees, 
yelling  and  screaming  as  if  they  were  crazy.  This  is 
what  they  call  the  bottle  race.  In  the  door  of  the 
cabin  stands  a  gentleman,  his  arm  uplifted,  grasp- 
ing in  his  fist  a  great  black  bottle,  which  he  is 
shaking  desperately,  as   if  to  incite   tlie  racers   to 


48  THE   EIFLE,   AXE,    AND    SADDLE-BAGS. 

greater  speed.  Up  rushes  the  foremost  of  the 
horsemen,  clutches  "bhick  Betty,"  gives  her  one 
triumphant  wave-  around  his  head  in  token  of  his 
victory,  applies  her  mouth  to  his  mouth,  imbibing 
the  consequences,  and  then  l-eturns  to  our  young 
couple,  that  they  may  drink  their  own  health  and 
happiness,  in  the  best  bald-face  whisky  the  settle- 
ment furnishes. 

And  now  here  are  assembled  all  the  neighbors 
from  miles  around — men,  women,  children  and  dogs. 
The  men  have  been  amusing  themselves  with  the 
usual  athletic  sports  of  the  border,  flinging  the  rail, 
hurling  the  tomahawk,  pitching  quoits,  wrestling, 
running  foot  and  horse  races,  and  shooting  at  a  mark. 
The  women  are  mostly  busied  about  the  barbecue. 
A  trench  has  been  dug,  in  one  end  of  which  you  will 
see  the  flames  blazing,  in  another  the  coals  smoulder- 
ing. Here  the  meats  are  being  prepared  for  masti- 
cation. 

But  it  is  now  high  noon,  dinner-time  the  world 
over,  so  think  our  simple-minded  farmers.  The 
grand  repast  is  served  beneath  a  rustic  arbor,  formed 
by  leafy  branches.  Here,  upon  the  puncheon  slabs, 
are  served  bear  meat,  buflalo  meat,  venison,  wild 
turkey,  and,  as  the  daintiest  of  all  the  delicacies, 
baked  'possum.  For  side  dishes,  you  have  "big 
hominy,"  pyramids  of  corn  dodgers,  with  plenty  of 
milk  and  butter,  if  the  country  be  far  enough 
advanced  for  cows.  K  not,  bear's  oil  must  take  the 
place.  It  is  used  as  a  sop  for  bread,  as  gravy  for 
meat,  and  is  pronounced  wonderful  by  those  who 
like  it.  The  men  draw  their  liunting-knives  from 
their  belts,  commence  the  business  of  carving,  using 


THE    WEDDING    DINNEK.  49 

their  fingers  for  forks.  Every  mother's  skirt  is 
chitched  by  her  brood  of  little  ones,  begging  for 
dodger  |ind  gravy,  while  around  every  hunter,  fawn 
and  leap  his  hounds,  begging  for  their  share  of  the 
repast. 

Shall  I  attempt  a  description  of  their  personal 
appearance?  They  are  all  large,  very  large,  men, 
women,  and  babies.  The  men  averaging  over  six  feet 
in  height,  and  broad  in  proportion,  are  clad  in  deer- 
skin hunting-shirts,  leggins,  and  moccasins  of  the  same 
material.  When  a  gentleman  wishes  a  pair  of  stockings, 
he  fills  his  moccasins  with  dried  leaves.  Around  the 
waist  is  a  belt  with  a  sheath  for  the  hunting-knife, 
and  another  for  the  tomahawk.  Descending  from 
the  shoulders  are  straps  supporting  the  bullet-pouch 
and  powder-horn.  The  head  is  surmounted .  by  a 
coon-skin  cap,  the  tail  of  the  animal  gracefully 
pendent  between  the  shoulders — the  only  ornament 
upon  the  person  masculine. 

But  what  am  I  to  do  with  the  gear  of  the  ladies  ? 
While  the  fighting  is  going  on,  when  the  small  stock 
of  store  goods  brought  from  the  older  settlements  has 
been  exliausted  and  -there  are  no  stores,  before  the 
home-made  looms  can  be  put  in  operation,  the 
women  are  obliged  to  fall  back  upon  the  material 
employed  by  their  husbands  and  sons,  and  thus 
manufacture  their  garments  from  deer-skin.  You 
can  readily  conceive  that  when  a  lady  has  been 
thoroughly  drenched  in  a  hard  shower,  and  is  drying 
herself  before  a  blazing  fire,  her  garments  shall  be  a 
very  tight  fit,  but  now  the  spinning-jenny  and  the 
loom  are  in  daily  use,  and  they  are  dressed  in  cloth 
of  their  own  making.     Copperas,   madder,  and  the 


50  THE  EIFLE,   AXE, 

other  dyes,  have  not  yet  been  introduced,  wherefore, 
they  say,  by  poetic  license,  white  cloth;  in  sooth,  it  is 
only  a  dirty  brown.  Mantua-making  has  not  been 
imported  from  Paris,  and,  in  consequence,  the  cut 
and  make  are  of  the  most  primitive  description. 
The  sleeves  resemble  miniature  corn-sacks,  through 
which  the  hands  are  thrust;  the  dresses  are  gathered 
at  the  neck,  but  gathered  nowhere  else,  and  fall 
gracefully — or  gracelessly — around  the  person.  But 
one  young  lady  at  this  frolic,  as  at  all  frolics,  is  the 
cynosure  of  every  beholder.  She  has  prevailed 
upon  her  father  to  go  a  journey  of  fifty  miles  to  the 
"Falls" — Louisville — to  buy  her  a  new  dress.  It  is 
bought  and  she  has  it  on,  but,  what  catastrophes  will 
not  ensue  when  young  ladies  entrust  the  purchase  of 
their  wardrobe  to  their  fathers.  The  dress  is  of  calico 
— for  calico  is  the  velvet  and  moire  antique  of  the  time, 
but  it  is  a  furnitm-e  calico,  of  a  very  large  figure,  and 
very  red.  But  the  old  hnnters  are  staring  at  lier  as  if 
their  eyes  had  never  greeted  such  a  vision  of  ravishing 
beauty.  Tlie  old  ladies  are  winking  and  nodding, 
and  whispering  to  each  other  that  "that  gal's  extrava- 
gance will  spile  the  whole  family."  Need  I  say 
what  the  young  ladies  are  doing?  Or  the  young 
gentlemen  ?  Who  does  not  know  the  power  of  fine 
di'css  to  breed  envy  and  win  attention? 

Here,  then,  they  stand  around  the  hospitable 
board,  a  healthy,  hearty,  happy  set  of  people,  with- 
out a  twinge  of  neuralgia,  or  a  symptom  of  dyspep- 
sia in  the  company.  This  you  would  believe,  could 
you  see  them  eat.  Dinner  ended,  the  second  part 
of  the  programme  begins ;  and  what  can  this  be  but 
a  dance.     Wherefore  the  old  black  fiddler  is  intro- 


A   DANCE. 


duced,  who,  after  making  the  inevitahle  preliminary 
flourishes  with  liis  bow,  bids  them  choose  partners 
and  start.  Remember  that  they  are  dancing  as  onr 
English  forefathers  danced,  on  the  green  sward,  in 
the  checkered  shade.  And  here  I  am  reminded 
that  they  are  a  rough  and  unsophisticated  people, 
for  the  only  styles  they  are  acquainted  with  are  the 
Virginia  reels,  jigs,  and  shake-downs.  If  you  had 
mentioned  mazourka,  polka,  schottische,  redowa, 
in  connection  with  dancing,  they  would  have  stared 
as  if  they  thought  you  crazy.  In  sooth,  had 
they  known  these  figures,  I  much  question  their 
adopting  them ;  for  they  held  it  as  a  primary  axiom 
in  domestic  morality,  that  it  was  the  business  of 
every  man  to  hug  his  own  wife,  and  let  other  women 
alone,  and  the  province  of  the  lady  to  submit  to  that  deli- 
cate process  only  at  the  arms  of  her  lord,  or  her  lover, 
at  farthest.  But  we,  with  our  superior  refinement  and 
morality,  can  aflford  to  practise  the  styles  sometimes 
called  fancy — more  properly  affectionate — imported 
from  the  sinks  of  Euroj)ean  prostitution,  while  we 
scout  as  rude  and  vulgar  the  borderers  and  their 
scruples.  On  they  caper,  "  till  the  livelong  daylight 
fails,"  when,  if  not  to  "the  spicy  nut-brown  ale,"  they 
betake  themselves  for  recuperation  to  a  cold  cut  and 
"black  Betty."  Through  the  thickening  darkness, 
blazing  pine-knots  from  fire-stands  shed  a  lurid 
glare,  affording  light  enough  to  dance  by.  Thus 
they  proceed  till  daylight,  halting  in  the  middle 
watch  for  another  "  bite  and  swig."  As  the  ruddy 
glow  steals  along  the  eastern  sky,  worn-out  and  bare- 
footed— for  moccasins  will  not  bear  everything — 
they  hie  them  home  to  rest. 


52  .       THE    RIFLE,    AXE,   AND    SADDLE-BAGS. 

A  day  or  two  thereafter,  you  shall  see  every  man 
who  has  been  at  the  party,  coming  to  the  "infair." 
With  }lis  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  that,  if  occasion  serve, 
he  may  "  drop  a  deer  in  his  ti-acks,"  attended  by  his 
pack  of  hounds,  who  follow  him  everywhere,  to 
church  and  funerals,  as  well  as  to  weddings,  our 
trusty  hunter  bears  along  his  axe.  Reaching  the 
site  selected,  he  finds  a  group  of  hardy  woodmen 
stripped  for  their  work,  wielding  their  axes  with 
gigantic  strength  and  dexterous  aim.  The  great 
trees  of  the  forest  shiver,  groan,  and  fall  with  a 
thunderous  crash.  Logs  of  the  proper  length  are 
cut  and  notched;  brawny  arms  lift  them  to  their 
places;  clap-boards  for  the  roof  are  sj^lit,  and 
puncheons*  are  hewed  for  the  floor,  and  in  a  trice 
the  new  house  is  raised.  In  the  centre  of  the  floor, 
four  augur-holes  are  bored,  in  which  are  inserted 
stakes.  On  these,  two  j^uncheons  are  placed,  which 
constitute  the  table.  Four  other  auger-holes  are 
bored  in  one  corner  of  the  cabin,  in  which  are 
inserted  four  stakes  with  forked  tops.  In  these  are 
laid  saplings,  on  which  rest  strips  of  bark,  or,  in 
their  place,  buflfalo  skins  are  tightly  drawn.  Dried 
leaves  are  then  collected  as  a  mattress;  the  upper 
side  of  the  tick  being  constituted  of  skin;  and 
thus  you  have  bed  and  bedstead.  A  rude  dresser 
is  hewn  in  another  corner  of  the  cabin,  which  shall 
contain  the  little  stock  of  pottery,  tin  and  iron  ware. 
Three  or  four  three-legged  stools — to  be  followed  in 

*  A  puncheon  is  nuuk'  by  splitliug  ;i  log  eight  oca  iuelies  in  diameter, 
the  hewed  side  laid  uppermost  or  outcrraost.  They  are  used  for  floors, 
doors,  benches,  &c. 


HOMES    IN   THE   WILDERNESS.  53 

after  years  by  a  dozen  or  twenty  more,  as  necessity 
may  require — and,  in  course  of  time,  a  sugar-trough 
for  a  cradle,  comj)lete  the  furniture  of  the  dwelling. 
At  his  leisure,  the  young  man  shall  arrange  a  set  of 
buckhorns  over  the  door,  as  pegs  whereon  to  rest  his 
rifle ;  and  construct  a  loom,  that  his  wife  may  prose- 
cute her  weaving,  for  she  has  brought  with  her  a 
spinning-j enny  as  her  dower.  The  "  house  is  warmed  " 
by  means  of  another  party,  and  our  newly-married 
pair  start  upon  the  sober  jog  of  wedded  life. 

Humble  indeed  were  these  households  of  the  first 
settlers.  But  around  these  cabin-homes  of  the 
wilderness,  God's  angels  came  to  bestow  their  bene- 
dictions. Here  are  health  and  labor,  frugality  and 
content,  chastity  and  love.  From  these  darkened 
fountains  in  the  forest  have  gushed  the  waters  which, 
flowing  into  simshine,  have  combined  to  form  the 
majestic  river  of  our  national  life. 

These  men  came  in  obedience  to  an  instinct  well- 
nigh  equivalent  to  a  heavenly  command  to  subdue 
the  land  and  to  replenish  it.  Tliey  came  with  that 
unerring  sagacity  to  discover  and  settle  choice  lands, 
which  may  be  taken  as  a  characteristic  of  Saxondom. 
With  stalwart  strength,  intre^^id  hearts,  high  resolves, 
and  unconquerable  wills,  they  came  to  dispossess  the 
red-skins,  and  claim  this  valley  world  as  a  heritage 
for  civilization.  TVith  unconscious  prescience,  they 
came  to  win  from  battle,  self-denial,  and  toil,  estates 
for  their  families,  and  an  empire  for  coming  genera- 
tions. Til ey  were  here  for  individual  freedom;  but 
they  felt  with  that  infallible  accuracy  inherited  from 
their  English  ancestry,  that  individual  freedom  could 
not  be  attained  save  by  social  and  civil  institutions. 


54:  THE   RIFLE,    AXE,    ANB    SADDLE-BAGS. 

Obedience  to  severe,  yet  majestic  law,  roust  be 
required;  else  liberty  would  degenerate  into  license, 
feudalism  would  liave  a  new  inauguration,  and  the 
garden  of  the  world  become  an  Alsatia.  These 
hunter-farmers  recognized  themselves  as  citizens, 
and  labored  long  and  well  to  lay  the  foundations 
of  coming  States.  Laws  were  passed  at  once  and 
duly  enforced.  Oftentimes  it  happened  that  Judge 
Lynch  occupied  the  bench,  and  that  regulators  were 
the  Jury.  How  could  it  be  otherwise  when  the 
nearest  constable  was  five  hundred  miles  away, 
and  the  only  police  officer  in  the  country  was  the 
rifle  at  the  saddle-pommel;  when  the  only  court- 
house was  the  first  tree,  and  the  only  jail  was  a  rope 
thi'own  over  the  lowest  branch,  the  culprit's  neck  in 
a  noose  at  one  end,  and  strong  hands  tugging  at  the 
other.  Some  of  their  laws  were  odd  enough,  not  a 
little  resembling  the  early  statutes  of  E"ew  England. 
They  had  one,  for  example,  that  no  man  should  be 
tolerated  in  the  commonwealth,  who  had  not  visible 
and  honest  means  of  support.  There  came  to  the 
town  of  Washington,  Kentucky,  a  young  man,  who 
seemed  to  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  keep  his  hands 
w^arm  in  his  pocket,  and  his  mouth  puckered  for  a 
whistle.  Strolling  about  the  town  from  day  to  day, 
he  was  spying  out  the  settlement,  that  he  might,  with 
fitting  opportunity,  begin  his  nefarious  scheme.  In 
his  coat-pocket  was  a  pack  of  greasy  cards,  into  the 
meaning  and  use  of  which  he  proposed  to  initiate  the 
young  men  of  the  place,  and  having  won  their 
money,  and  corrupted  their  morals,  to  pass  to  other 
places  as  a  missionary  of  the  evil  one.  Some  of  the 
old  gentlemen  of  the  neighborhood  shrewdly  suspect- 


JUSTICE   IN   THE   BACKWOODS.  65 

ing  his  intent,  warned  him  of  the  prescript  upon 
their  statute  book.  But  he,  as  young  gentlemen  are 
apt  to  do,  esteemed  the  old  men  a  pack  of  old  fogies, 
and  went  as  before,  upon  his  whistling  way.  They 
gave  him  the  notice ;  he  disregarded  it ;  the  penalty 
was  upon  his  own  head.  A  writ  was  served  upon 
him,  and  he  was  deposited  for  safe  keeping  in  the 
jail,  or,  as  they  figuratively  call  it,. the  jug.  Adver- 
tisement is  made,  a  crowd  assembles ;  he  is  carried  by 
the  sheriff  into  the  middle  of  the  public  square,  mounted 
on  a  horse-block,  put  up  at  auction,  and  knocked  down 
to  the  highest  bidder.  The  highest  bidder  is  the  village 
blacksmith,  who,  fastening  a  chain  around  his  leg, 
conducts  him  to  the  forge,  where  he  keeps  him 
secm-e,  and  for  three  months,  from  sun  to  sun, 
inducts  him  into  the  craft  of  blowing  and  striking. 
The  law's  stern  lesson  taught  him,  our  gambling 
gentleman  is  set  at  liberty,  when  he  "makes  tracks," 
his  back  upon  Kentucky,  swearing  it  the  "meanest 
country  a  white  man  ever  got  into." 


56  TTIE   KIFLE,    AXE,    AND    SADDLE-BAGS. 


III. 

THE     RADDL  E-B  AGS. 

As  these  hardy  adventurers,  bent  upon  perilous 
enteq^rise,  are  thrusting  themselves  into  the  occu- 
pancy of  a  new  world,  I  see  approaching  another 
class,  with  many  traits  in  common  with  them ;  yet, 
many  differhig.  They,  too,  are  of  large  build,  and 
robust  strength;  they,  too,  are  inured  to  exposure 
and  privation;  they,  too,  have  nerves  that  never 
thrill  with  fear.  Sim  and  storm  have  bronzed  them; 
hunger,  frost,  and  loneliness  are  to  them  familiar 
acquaintances.  Gaunt  poverty  keeps  even  pace 
with  them  as  they  ride,  and  shall  accompany  them 
until  they  reach  the  last  stage  of  their  journey — the 
house  appointed  for  all  living.  Wherefore  are  they 
in  the  wilderness — for  they  have  neither  rifles  nor 
axes  ? 

They  are  generally  on  horseback,  and  when  they 
are,  you  may  accept  the  fact  2^^  prima  fade  evidence 
that  the  beasts  they  ride  are  good  ones ;  for  they  are 
great  judges  of  horse-flesh.  I  have  even  heard  it 
whispered  that  they  are  a  little  dangerous  "at  a 
trade  " — but  that,  of  course,  is  scandal. 

llieir  symbol  is  the  saddle-bags,  which  go  with 
them  in  all  their  wayfarings — beneath  them  as  they 
ride — upon  their  arm  in  walking.     In  the  capacious 


PREACHERS   IN   THE   WILDERNESS.  57 

pockets  is  snnglj  deposited  their  library,  consisting 
of  the  Bible,  hjmn-book,  and,  probably,  the  "Pil- 
grim's Progress,"  "Paradise  Lost,"  and  the  "ISTight 
Thoughts ;"  their  few  changes  of  what  we  shall  poetic- 
ally call  clean  linen ;  i.  e.,  very  coarse  cotton — together 
with  such  odds  and  ends  as  they  may  chance  to  own. 

These  men  are  here  in  obedience  to  the  command 
of  him  who  said,  "  Go  into  all  the  world,  and  preach 
my  gospel  to  every  creature;"  in  imitation  of  him 
who  "  came  to  seek  and  to  save  that  which  was  lost," 
and  who  went  about  doing  good.  They  are  here  to 
do  the  work  of  evangelists,  and  to  make  full  proof  of 
their  ministry,  warning  "every  man,  and  teaching 
every  man  in  all  wisdom,  that  they  may  present 
every  man  perfect  in  Christ  Jesus."  Another  wolf  is 
there  than  the  grey  one  of  the  forest.  Shall  not  the 
flock  be  fed  and  folded  while  the  lambs  are  earned  in 
their  bosoms? 

Through  the  instrumentality  of  these  humble  men, 
a  cabin,  similar  to  the  one  already  described,  but  used 
for  a  widely  different  pui-pose,  is  reared  in  many  a 
settlement.  It  serves  as  a  school-house  and  a  sanctu- 
ary— symbol  of  the  country's  strength  and  purity. 
Unlearned  themselves,  they  were,  nevertheless,  the 
first  patrons  of  literature  and  science — founding 
academies  and  colleges.  I  have  known  many  a  man 
of  this  class,  who  could  not  construct  half-a-dozen 
sentences  grammatically,  yet  bestowing  half  his  slen- 
der yearly  stipend  to  establish  an  institution  of  learn- 
ing. Traversing  the  trackless  mazes  of  the  woods, 
they  are  not  seldom  greeted  by  the  crack  of  a  rifle, 
and  a  bullet  whistling  near  their  ear  from  an  Indian 
ambuscade.      Their   journeys    take    them    through 


58  THE   KIFLE,    AXE,    AND    SADDLE-BAGS. 

boundless  reaches  of  uninhabited  country.  The  cane- 
brake,  the  swamp,  the  moss,  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  are 
their  only  beds  for  more  than  half  the  year.  Their 
saddle  is  their  pillow,  with  no  tent  but  the  canopy — 
save  as  the  snow  may  wind  its  wintry  sheet  about 
them.  They  live  by  rule.  Four  o'clock  of  the 
morning  finds  them  stirring.  The  knee  is  bent  in 
fervent,  simple  prayer.  The  soul's  health  thus  cared 
for,  and  the  body's  welfare  commended  to  an 
Almighty  Friend,  the  faithful  horse,  loved  as  a  com- 
panion, hobbled  near  at  hand,  claims  the  next  atten- 
tion ;  familiarly  patted  and  talked  to,  he  is  carefully 
rubbed  and  cm-ried,  if  a  comb  be  at  hand.  Soon  as 
the  light  is  strong  enough  to  serve,  the  little  Bible  is 
taken  from  the  pocket  or  saddle-bags,  and  chapter 
after  chapter  is  studied  on  the  knees,  while  ofttimes, 
tears  course  their  way  do^vn  the  w^eather-beaten 
cheeks,  bedewing  the  sacred  page.  I  have  seen 
more  than  one  of  these  volumes,  the  text-book  and 
solace  of  many  a  year,  with  its  print  so  dimmed  as  to 
be  illegible  to  any  eyes  but  those  accustomed  to  read 
it  every  day.  These  men  were  mighty  in  the  Scrip- 
tures. Here  found  they  panoply  and  arsenal.  Then 
mounting,  hymn-book  in  hand,  they  start  upon  their 
trackless  way,  guiding  themselves  by  the  sun,  if  he 
be  visible ;  by  the  courses  of  the  streams,  or  the  dif- 
ferent shades  and  textures  of  the  bark  upon  the  trees. 
The  bee's  line  is  not  more  accurate  than  their  direc- 
tion. Never  was  lover  more  true  to  his  tryst  than 
these  men  to  their  appointments.  The  hour  for 
meeting  is  scarce  more  sure  to  come  than  they.  No 
matter  whether  the  day  be  Satm-day  or  Monday,  for 
they  preach  on  all  days  alike;  no  matter  whether  the 


WILLIAM   BUEKE.  59 

congregation  consist  of  one  or  a  thousand,  the  service 
is  performed,  and  performed  with  fervor,  impressive- 
ness,  and  solemnity.  They  have  come  to  meet  the 
exigencies  of  the  country  and  the  time,  and  they 
never  flinch.  Over  then-  patriotic  countrymen  who 
have  fallen  on  the  red  field  of  Indian  battle,  they 
perform  the  rites  of  Christian  burial.  To  the  lonely 
cabin  where  sits  the  broken-hearted  widow  with  her 
brood  of  helpless  orphans,  they  come  to  teach  the 
doctrines  of  Jesus  and  the  resurrection;  to  tell 
of  a  Father,  who  will  "never  leave  them,  nor  forsake 
them,"  and  of  a  land  where  "God  shall  wipe  away 
all  tears,  and  there  shall  be  no  more  death,  neither 
sorrow  nor  crying."  The  drunkard  is  counselled,  the 
swearer  reproved,  all  forms  of  vice  admonished,  and 
every  man  warned  to  "flee  the  wrath  to  come,  and 
lay  hold  on  eternal  life."  No  occasion  is  omitted, 
no  opportunity  lost.  The  man  whom  the  preacher 
meets  to-day,  may  be  dead  to-morrow,  and  "lifting 
up  his  eyes,  being  in  torment."  From  behind  his 
stool,  in  the  corner  of  the  cabin,  or  mounted  upon  a 
stiimp  at  the  cross-roads,  does  he  beseech  men  "by 
the  love  of  Christ  to  become  reconciled  to  God." 

Let  the  following  incident  stand  as  illustrative  of 
the  character  of  these  men. 

A  few  months  ago,  in  December,  1855,  there  died, 
in  the  city  of  Cincinnati,  a  man  nearly  ninety  years 
of  age,  whose  name  was  "William  Burke.  He  had 
been  almost  in  the  van  of  these  pioneer  ministers. 
He  entered  the  West  when  the  contest  with  the 
Indians  was  at  its  hottest.  He  travelled  through  what 
is  now  Western  Yirginia  and  jSTorth  Carolina,  Ten- 
nessee, Kentucky,  and  Ohio.     There  was  scarce  r 


60  THE   RIFLE,    AXE,    AND    SADDLE-BAGS. 

settlement  in  all  this  vast  region  where  he  had  not 
preached,  or  a  cabin  where  he  had  not  prayed  with 
the  inmates.  So  poor  was  he  oftentimes,  that  his 
clothes,  as  he  himself  said,  "  were  patch  upon  patch, 
and  patch  above  patch,  nntil  the  patches  themselves 
were  worn  ont,  and  bare-kneed,  and  bai-e-elbowed ;" 
without  a  cent  in  his  pocket,  or  a  friend  to  give  him 
a  new  garment,  he  mnst  needs  go  forward  in  the  ser- 
vice of  his  master.  After  three  and  twenty  years  of 
unremitting  toil,  having  experienced  hardshii)s  and 
sujffering  beyond  description,  he  lost  his  voice,  and 
was  obliged  to  abandon  his  vocation.  Selling  out  his 
stock  in  trade,  saddle,  bridle,  horse,  and  saddle-bags,  he 
found  himself  in  possession  of  two  hundred  and  thir- 
teen dollars,  as  the  total  receipts  for  his  twenty-three 
years'  labor.  And  now  let  me  give  you  some  facts 
from  the  history  of  one  of  my  own  friends,  whom  I 
loved  well-nigh  as  a  father — one  of  the  noblest  men 
that  ever  trod  this  globe.  He  left  us  nearly  six  years 
ago.  Although  not  one  of  the  earliest,  he  was  in  the 
field  at  a  sufficiently  early  date  to  entitle  him  to  the 
name  of  a  pioneer  preacher. 

He  too  was  a  specimen  of  Young  America,  for  he 
began  to  preach  at  the  age  of  sixteen  years.  As  I 
remember,  he  had  never  received  three  months'  school- 
ing in  his  life.  He  was  remarkably  handsome.  For 
fire  and  twenty  years  he  was  called  the  Apollo  of  the 
West — albeit  for  a  good  portion  of  tlie  time  Apollo 
in  hom.espun.  He  was  one  of  the  gifted  sons  of 
genius.  Henry  Clay,  who  should  have  been  a  good 
judge  in  such  matters,  pronounced  him  the  most  elo- 
quent man  he  ever  heard  open  his  lips. 

T  have  said  he  was  very  handsome,  and  that  in  the 


GOOD   LOOKS   HERETICAL.  61 

esteem  of  many  of  his  brethren,  was  equivalent  to 
heresy.  I  have  known  many  well-meaning  simple- 
tons, who,  to  nse  their  own  expression,  "  conkln't 
abide  him  because  he  looked  so  like  a  dandy."  Many 
of  the  old  brethren  of  the  laity  and  clergy  thought  it 
"  wasn't  in  him  to  be  a  preacher."  Whenever  they 
saw  him  coming  towards  them  with  his  ingenuous 
face  and  kingly  carriage,  their  countenances  would 
lengthen  to  a  preternatural  longitude,  and  uttering 
what  they  meant  to  be  a  pious  groan,  they  would 
murmur  among  themselves,  "  he'll  never  do." 

There  was  one  old  brother,  who,  while  he  shared 
this  prejudice,  nevertheless  felt  some  interest  in  the 
stripling  ;  blunted,  indeed,  must  have  been  that  nature 
which  refused  response  to  the  generous  spirit  of 
my  friend.  The  old  gentleman  took  it  upon  himself 
to  deliver  admonitory  lectures  on  the  subjects  of 
apparel  and  demeanor,  to  the  candidate  for  holy 
orders.  "  Hemy,  my  son,"  he  said,  in  a  gruff,  rebuk- 
ing tone,  "  why  don't  you  try  to  be  like  a  preacher, 
and  look  like  a  preacher?  You'll  never  be  worth 
shucks  as  long  as  you  live." 

"  I  don't  mean  anything  by  it,"  modestly  responded 
the  young  man — never  have  I  known  a  woman  more 
diffident  than  he  was,  except  in  presence  of  peril, 
where  lion  was  never  bolder — "  I  can't  help  the  way 
I  look;  I  am  just  the  way  God  made  me." 

"]N'o  you  ain't,"  responded  the  senior,  "you  can 
help  it.  Dress  better,  and  don't  look  so  much  like  a 
fop." 

"  I  have  to  wear  the  clothes  that  are  given  me ; 
you  know  I  have  no  money  to  buy  new  ones." 

"  If  that  is  all,"  said  the  old  man,  "  it  can  soon  be 


62  THE   EIFLE,    AXE,    AND   SADDLE-BAGS. 

fixed.  Will  you  wear  a  suit  of  clothes  I'll  have  made 
for  you?" 

"  Anything  in  the  world,"  rejoined  the  other. 

"  Very  well,  trust  me.  I'll  make  you  look  like  a 
preacher." 

"  I  wish  you  would,  with  all  my  heart ;  nothing 
would  please  me  better,"  said  the  future  orator. 

They  parted,  the  young  man  going  to  his  work,  the 
old  man  to  see  to  the  tailoring.  At  the  end  of  six 
weeks,  the  appointed  time,  the  young  man  made  his 
appearance.  The  aged  saint,  standing  in  the  midst 
of  a  number  of  friends  whom  he  had  summoned  to 
witness  the  transformation  of  his  deformed  protege 
rubbing  his  hands  in  glee,  pleased  with  his  anticipa- 
tions of  success,  pointed  to  a  thicket  of  bushes, 
behind  which  the  new  suit  was  deposited — for  houses 
were  small,  and  the  only  dressing-room  was  the 
"  timber."  The  re-appearance  of  the  young  clergy- 
man in  his  canonicals  was  impatiently  awaited.  At 
length,  attired  in  his  new  habiliments,  with  manly 
stride  and  noble  person  he  approaches.  Tlie  old  gen- 
tleman looks,  then  stares,  unable  to  believe  the  evi- 
dence of  his  senses.  He  hastens  to  meet  the  parson, 
then  withdraws  a  i3ace  or  two,  and  performs  a  circuit 
round  him.  Some  trick  has  been  played  upon  him  ; 
these  are  not  the  clothes  he  has  caused  to  be  manu- 
factured. Eushing  up,  he  turns  the  young  man  round 
and  round.  "  Yes,  it  is  the  very  suit — copperas 
homespun,  shad-belly  coat,  a  vest  to  match,  breeches, 
as  nearly  alike  as  possible.  Whirling  on  his  heel,  his 
countenance  expressive  of  disgust,  mortification,  and 
con*'empt,  he  exclaims,  as  he  marches  off,  "  tut,  tut, 
boj  '  there's  no  use  in  the  world  trying  to  do  any- 


MODESTY   AND   COURAGE.  63 

thing  with  you.  You  look  more  like  a  dandy  now 
than  ever  you  did  in  your  life." 

I  have  said  he  was  a  modest  man,  but  a  brave  one 
too.  On  one  occasion  it  became  needful  that  he 
should  administer  a  sharp  rebuke  to  some  disorderly 
young  men  in  the  congregation.  These  worthies 
swore  vengeance,  declaring  that  they  would  thrash 
him  within  an  inch. of  his  life.  It  was  known  that 
they  intended  to  waylay  him,  as  he  crossed  the 
mountain  on  the  morrow,  on  his  way  to  the  next 
appointment.  Some  of  the  church-members  endeav- 
ored to  dissuade  him  from  proceeding  on  his  journey, 
assuring  him  that  the  young  men  who  had  uttered 
these  threats  were  desperate  characters,  and  that  they 
would  be  sure  to  make  good  their  word  ;  and  that 
the  consequences  might  be  fatal  to  himself.  He 
briefly  replied  that  it  was  his  duty  to  go,  and  he 
would  go. 

One  of  his  brethren  volunteered  to  bear  him 
company.  On  their  way,  they  stopped  to  cut  stout 
hickory  cudgels,  with  which  to  defend  themselves. 
Approaching  a  narrow  pass  on  the  mountain  side,  a 
wall  of  rock  on  one  hand,  a  precipice  on  the  other, 
the  four  rowdies  were  discovered  with  shirt-sleeves 
rolled  up,  their  hands  clubbing  their  weapons. 

"  Four  against  two  ;  let's  go  back"  said  the  church- 
brother. 

"  Come  on,"  said  the  preacher. 

"  They'll  kill  us,"  replied  the  other. 

"  Go  home,  then,"  said  the  preacher;  and  keeping 
his  horse  in  a  walk,  quietly  fixing  his  commanding 
eye  on  these  four  men,  bent  on  mischief,  he  rode  up 
and  passed  them,  while  not  a  man  of  them  seemed 


64  THE   RIFLE,    AXE,    AND    SADDLE-BAGS. 

able  to  raise  his  club.  The  preacher's  companion 
who  had  tarried  behind  watching  in  terror,  see- 
ing how  rowdyism  cowered  before  manhood,  pricked 
his  steed,  and  now  came  riding  up.  "That  was 
pretty  well  done,"  said  he. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  ride  with  me  across  the  moun- 
tain ?"  said  the  preacher. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  other,  somewhat  abashed. 

"Then  fall  back  and  follow;  cowards  shouldn't 
'ride  abreast  with  men." 

In  illustration  of  his  nonconformity  to  clerical 
appearance,  take  the  following :  Having  occasion  to 
traverse  Kentucky  from  Louisville,  where  he  was 
then  stationed,  to  one  of  the  southern  counties,  he 
stopped,  at  the  end  of  a  hard  day's  travel,  at  a  lonely 
cabin,  where  lived  a  Dutchman  and  his  family.  After 
supper  mine  host,  who  was  as  inquisitive  as  a  tin- 
peddler,  commenced  catechising  the  stranger,  asking 
all  manner  of  questions,  such  as,  "  Where  did  you 
come  from  ?  "Where  are  you  going  to  ?  You're  a  law- 
yer, I  suppose  ?  No  ?  Then  you  must  be  a  doctor  ?" 
To  all  of  which  and  many  more,  our  friend  responded 
as  briefly  as  possible.  The  bewildered  Dutchman  at 
length  exclaimed,  "  What  are  you  then  ?" 

"  A  preacher." 

"  A  preacher !"  incredulously  exclaimed  the  old 
Teuton,  "  What  sort  of  a  preacher  ?  Episcopal  ?" 

"Ko." 

"Presbyterian?" 

"  No." 

"  What  then  ?" 

"  A  Methodist." 

"A  Methodist!     What,  in  them   clothes?     Good 


ACCOMMODATIONB   FOR  MAN   AND   BEAST.  65 

Lord !  if  I  had  gone  out  to  shoot  a  preacher,  I  would 
never  have  pulled  trigger  at  you  !" 

By  way  of  administering  a  sound  reproof  to  him 
for  being  handsome,  and  looking  well  in  his  clothes, 
his  superiors  sent  him  one  year — the  fourth  of  his 
ministry — to  a  region  of  country  where  it  was  thought 
he  would  be  broken  down,  or  broken  in.  He  had 
already  seen  hard  service;  more  than  once  had  he 
ridden  at  full  speed,  chased  by  a  pack  of  yelling 
Indians,  their  bullets  whistling  round  him  like  hail. 
He  had  become  familiar  with  all  manner  of  exposure 
and  privation,  but  it  was  thought  that  this  circuit 
would  put  him  to  the  uttermost  test.  It  was  a  wild, 
mountainous  tract  in  western  Yirginia.  sparsely  popu- 
lated by  hunters,  who  were  there  for  the  game  and 
peltry. 

You  may  see  him  riding  up  some  evening  to  the 
door  of  a  cabin,  where  he  is  to  lodge,  and  as  it  is  a  pretty 
fair  specimen  of  the  houses  in  the  country,  you  may 
desire  a  description  of  it.  The  cabin  is  twelve  by 
fourteen  feet,  and  one  story  high.  The  spaces  between 
the  logs  are  chinked  and  then  daubed  with  mud  for 
plaster.  The  interior  consists  of  one  room,  one  end 
of  which  is  occupied  by  a  fire-place.  In  this  one 
room  are  to  sleep,  the  man,  his  wife,  the  fifteen  or 
twenty  children  bestowed  upon  them  by  Provi- 
dence— for  Providence  is  bountiful  in  this  matter 
upon  the  border — and  as  the  woods  are  full  of  *^  var- 
mints," hens  and  chickens  must  be  brought  in  for 
safe  keeping,  and  as  the  dogs  constitute  an  important 
portion  of  every  hunter's  family,  they  also  take  pot- 
luck  with  the  rest.  Fastened  to  a  tree  near  the  door 
is  a  clapboard,  upon  which  is  traced,  in  characters 


66  THE   KIFLE,    AXE,    AND    SADDLE-BAGS. 

of  charcoal,  a  sentence  to  the  following  effect — which 
you  may  read  if  you  are  keen  at  deciphering  hiero- 
glyphics :  "  Altomidation fur  man  and  Beast.'''' 

In  this  one  room  the  family  are  to  perform 
their  manifold  household  offices.  Here  their  sleep- 
ing, cooking,  eating,  washing,  preaching  and  hearing 
are  to  be  performed.  Amid  the  driving  storms  of 
winter,  it  is  of  course  impossible  for  our  youthful  theo- 
logian to  transform  an  old  log  or  the  shadow  of  a  tree 
into  a  study ;  his  book  must  therefore  be  earned 
into  the  house,  where  he  is  surrounded  by  a  motley 
group.  Of  course  a  hunter  never  swears  in  bad 
weather ;  the  lady  of  the  house  never  scolds ;  children 
of  all  ages  never  quarrel  and  raise  a  row;  dogs 
never  bark  and  fight ;  nevertheless,  you  may  imagine 
that  if  oui-  student  is  able  to  confine  his  attention  to 
the  page,  deriving  mental  nutriment  from  the  lettered 
line,  he  must  possess  not  a  little  power  of  concentra- 
tion and  abstraction.  He  may  obtain  permission  of 
his  host  to  pursue  his  studies  after  the  rest  of  the 
family  have  retired.  Lighting  a  pine  knot,  he  sticks 
it  up  in  one  corner  of  the  huge  fire-place,  lays  him- 
self down  on  the  flat  of  his  stomach  in  the  ashes, 
glowing  with  transport  over  "the  thoughts  that 
breathe  and  words  that  bum."  These  are  w^hat  poets 
call  "midnight  oil,"  and  "cloisters  pale."  Not  a 
few  men  have  I  known  who  acquired  a  mastery  of 
the  Latin  and  Greek  tongue,  and  much  valuable 
and  curious  lore  in  such  "grottoes  and  caves"  as 
^ese. 

Possibly  there  may  be  another  apartment  in  the 
cabin.  K  so,  it  is  denominated  the  "  prophet's  cham- 
ber."   You  gain  access  to  it  by  a  rickety  step-ladder 


THE  PREACHER  S  DORMITORY.  67 

in  one  comer  of  the  cabin.  Toiling  up  this  steep 
ascent  jou  reach  a  loft,  formed  by  laying  loose  clap- 
boards on  the  rafters.  With  dubious  tread  and  care- 
ful steps,  you  pick  your  way  across  the  floor.  I  have 
said  the  clapboards  are  loose,  and  if  you  are  not 
cautious,  one  end  will  fly  up  and  the  other  down,  in 
company  with  which  latter  you  shall  be  precipitated 
upon  the  sleepers  below.  Having  reached  the  oppo- 
site end  of  the  loft,  the  prophet's  bed  is  discovered. 
It  is  a  bear-skin,  a  buflalo-skin,  or  a  tick  filled  with 
shucks.  Having  laid  him  on  his  couch,  our  prophet, 
if  he  be  thoughtfully  inclined,  can  study  Astronomy 
from  his  resting-place,  through  the  rifts  in  the  roof; 
and  when  it  rains  or  snows,  he  has  the  benefit  of  the 
hydropathic  treatment,  without  fee  or  ^prescription. 

Many  a  time  was  the  bare,  bleak,  mountain-side 
his  bed,  the  wolves  yelKng  a  horrid  chorus  in  his 
ears.  Sometimes  he  was  fortunate  enough  to  find  a 
hollow  log,  within  whose  cavity  he  inserted  his  body, 
and  found  it  a  good  protection  from  the  rain  or  frost. 

Sitting,  one  fine  summer  afternoon,  beneath  the 
shadow  of  a  noble  tree,  intently  studying  his  book,  he 
heard  a  rustling  in  the  branches  above,  then  a  low 
warning  '•  whist "  from  some  one  near  at  hand,  fol- 
lowed by  the  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle.  Crashing 
through  the  branches  there  falls  upon  the  ground  at 
his  feet  a  huge  panther.  The  beast  had  been  crouch- 
ing in  preparation  for  a  deadly  spring,  when  a  ball 
from  the  rifle  of  his  hunter  host  saved  his  life. 

Once,  seated  at  the  puncheon  dinner-table  with  a 
hunter's  family,  the  party  is  startled  by  affrighted 
screams  from  the  door-yard.  Rushing  out  they 
behold  a  great  wild  cat  bearing  off  the  youngest 


68  THE   RIFLE,    AXE,    AND    SADDLE-BAGS. 

child.  Seizing  a  rifle  from  the  j^egs  over  the  door, 
the  preaclier  raises  it  to  his  shoulder,  casts  a  rapid 
glance  along  the  barrel,  and  delivers  his  fire.  The 
aim  has  been  unerring,  but  too  late — the  child  is 
dead,  already  destroyed  by  the  fierce  animal. 

That  same  year  he  had  a  hand-to-hand  fight  with  a 
bear,  from  which  conflict  he  came  forth  victor,  his 
knife  entering  the  vitals  of  the  creature  just  as  he 
was  about  to  be  enfolded  in  the  fatal  hus:. 

He  must  ford  or  swim  mountain  torrents  as  they 
boil  and  rush  along  their  downward  channels,  in 
cold  weather  as  in  warm.  Often  he  emerged  from 
the  wintry  stream,  his  garments  glittering  in  the 
clear,  cold  sunlight,  as  if  they  had  been  of  bm'nished 
steel-armor,  chill  as  the  touch  of  death.  During  that 
twelvemonth,  in  the  midst  of  such  scenes,  he  travelled 
on  foot  and  horseback  four  thousand  miles,  preached 
four  hundred  times ;  and  found  on  casting  up  the 
receipts,  yarn  socks,  woollen  vests,  cotton  shirts,  and 
a  little  silver  change,  that  his  salary  amounted  to 
twelve  dollars  and  ten  cents. 

Undaunted  by  the  suspicions  of  his  brethren,  their 
fears  that  he  would  not  make  a  preacher,  by  the  hard- 
ships and  perils  of  the  way,  he  persevered. 

One  other  incident  of  his  eventful  career  let  me 
relate,  as  he  told  it  to  me  himself.  He  was  preach- 
ing in  a  large  country  church  on  a  bright  Sabbath 
morning.  The  house  was  crowded  to  its  utmost 
capacity,  the  windows  were  all  open,  one  of  which 
was  immediately  behind  tlie  pulpit,  overlooking  the 
rural  graveyard,  llie  preacher  was  indulging  in  a 
description  of  the  various  typical  forms  and  mani- 
festations of  the  Holy  Spirit.     "Who  that  ever  heard 


HENEY     BIDLEMAN     BASCOM.  69 

liim  in  one  of  bis  liappy  moods,  does  not  remember 
the  encliaining  power  of  his  oratory?  Spellbound, 
breathless,  the  audience  hung  upon  his  lips.  It  was 
the  baptism  of  Jordan.  With  John  they  saw  the  open- 
ing heaven,  the  Spirit  of  God  in  the  f^m  of  a  dove 
nestling  upon  the  Saviour,  when  silently,  suddenly  as 
an  apparition,  a  milk-white  dove  flew  through  the 
open  window  at  the  rear  of  the  pulpit,  and  nestled  on 
the  preacher's  shoulder.  Astounded,  he  paused ;  an 
instant  it  sat,  then  rose,  and  describing  a  circle  around 
his  head,  away  flew  the  snowy  bird  to  the  vernal  pas- 
tures and  summer  woods.  The  efl'ect  of  this  start- 
ling coincidence  upon  the  audience  I  leave  you  to 
imagine. 

I  have  said  he  persevered.  He  became  a  Doctor 
of  Divinity,  and  deserved  his  degree,  which  is  no 
faint  praise  in  the  United  States.  He  became  the 
President  of  a  University,  and  graced  the  chair  he 
filled ;  he  became  a  Bishop  in  the  Church  of  God ; 
and  a  truer,  nobler  man  never  trod  this  continent 
than  was  Henry  Bidleman  Bascom. 

These  men  had  the  wilderness  for  a  college  ;  their 
theological  seminary  was  the  circuit ;  and  lessons 
enough  in  pastoral  theology  did  they  get.  Their  text- 
book was  the  Bible  ;  for  more  than  any  others  that  I 
know  of,  they  were  men  of  one  book.  Their  com- 
mentaries and  works  of  exegesis  were  their  own 
hearts,  and  the  hearts  of  their  fellow-men,  which 
thev  prayerfully  and  devoutly  studied.  They  were 
"  workmen  that  needed  not  to  be  ashamed,  rightly 
dividing  the  word  of  truth." 

As  we  in  colder  mood  attempt  to  estimate  their 
character,  it  may  seem  as  if  their  faith  verges  upon 


70  THE    EIFLE,   AXE,    AITD   SADDLE-BAG8. 

credulity,  tlieir  zeal  degenerates  into  fanaticism.  1 
have  heard  a  story  whicli  illustrates  one  jDortion  of 
their  character. 

A  wayfarer,  who  for  many  years  had  preached  in 
the  I^orthwettern  Territory,  after  its  division  into 
States  found  his  operations  circumscribed  to  Indiana. 
Himself  and  family  had  subsisted  upon  the  scanty 
pittance  allowed  them — barely  enough  to  keep  soul 
and  body  together.  They  had  borne  their  poverty 
and  toil  without  a  murmur.  Tlie  preacher  was  much 
beloved,  tall,  slender,  graceful,  with  a  winning  coun- 
tenance, a  kindly  eye,  where  flashed  the  fire  of  genius, 
a  voice  silvery  and  powerful  in  speech,  sweet  as  a 
wind-harp  in  song.  As  the  country-  began  to  settle, 
a  large  landholder,  much  attached  to  the  preacher, 
knowing  his  poverty,  wishes  to  make  an  expression  of 
his  grateful  regard  and  aflfection.  Wherefore  he 
presents  him  with  a  title-deed  of  three  hundi-ed  and 
twenty  acres — a  half  section  of  land.  The  man  of 
God  goes  upon  his  way  with  a  glad  and  liumble 
heart.  Thus  he  has  provision  made  for  his  own 
advancing  age,  and  the  wants  of  his  rising  fomily. 
In  three  months  he  returns  ;  alighting  at  the  gate,  he 
removes  the  saddle-bags  and  begins  to  fumble  in  their 
capacious  pockets.  As  he  reaches  the  door,  where 
stands  his  friendly  host  to  welcome  him,  he  draws 
out  the  parchment,  saying — 

"  Here,  sir,  I  want  to  give  you  back  your  title- 
deed." 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  his  friend,  surprised; 
"  any  flaw  in  it  ?" 

"]S"o." 

"  Isn't  it  good  land  ?" 


VALUE    OF   A   SONG.  71 

"  Good  as  any  in  the  State." 

"  Sickly  situation  ?" 

"  Healthy  as  any  other." 

''  Do  you  think  I  repent  my  gift  ? 

"  I  haven't  the  slightest  reason  to  doubt  your  gene- 
rosity." 

"  Why  don't  you  keep  it  then?" 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  preacher,  "  you  know  I  am 
very  fond  of  singing,  and  there's  one  hymn  in  my 
book,  the  singing  of  'which  is  one  of  the  greatest 
comforts  of  my  life.  I  have  not  been  able  to  sing  it 
with  my  whole  heart  since  I  was  here.  A  part  of  it 
runs  in  this  way : 

"No  foot  of  land  do  I  possess, 
No  cottage  in  the  wilderness ; 
A  poor  wayfaring  man, 
I  lodge  awhile  in  tents  below. 
And  gladly  wander  to  and  fro, 
Till  I  my  Caanan  gain ; 
There  is  my  house  and  portion  fair, 
My  treasure  and  my  heart  are  there, 
And  my  abiding  home." 

"  Take  your  title-deed,"  he  added,  "  I  had  rather 
sing  that  hymn  with  a  clear  conscience  than  own 
America." 

He  went  his  way  and  sang  his  song,  confiding  his 
family  to  the  care  of  Him  who  had  promised,  ^'  I  will 
be  a  husband  to  the  widow,  and  a  father  to  the  father- 
less." They  never  lacked  nor  suffered  hunger.  The 
preacher  went  to  his  home  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river  long  years  ago.  "  I  have  been  young,"  said  the 
Psalmist,  ''  but  now  I  am  old  ;  yet  have  I  never  seen 
the  righteous  forsaken,  nor  his  seed  begging  bread." 


T2  THE   RIFLE,    AXE.    AND     SADDLE-BAGS. 

These  men  trusted  tliat  what  the  kingly  singer  never 
saw,  could  not  be  seen  by  their  contemporaries. 
They  trusted  God,  and  their  faith  was  counted  to  them 
for  righteousness. 

Their  preaching  was  sometimes  dogmatic  and  pole- 
mic ;  but  even  then  it  was  spiced  with  pungent,  practi- 
cal expostulations.  They  spake  in  the  idiom  of  the 
people,  they  used  the  words  of  daily  life.  K  they 
meant  anything  for  you,  you  would  be  apt  to  find  it 
out.  They  may  not  have  been  metaphysical,  rheitori- 
cal,  logical,  oratorical,  but  they  spake  to  the  point. 
They  lived  in  a  country  where  men  would  "  pick  out " 
a  squirrel's  eye  at  a  hundred  yards,  or  drive  a  nail  with 
a  bullet  at  seventy-five.  They  were  preaching  to  a 
people  who  despised  ambiguity  and  circumlocution. 
Their  three  rules  of  oratory  were — and  they  were 
good  rules — first,  never  begin  till  you  have  some- 
thing to  say ;  second,  say  it ;  third,  quit  when  you 
are  done. 

Take  the  following  as  a  specimen  of  their  predilec- 
tions. It  was  a  discourse  delivered  by  the  Rev.  James 
Axley,  familiarly  known  as  "  old  Jimmy,"  a  renowned 
and  redoubtable  preacher  of  East  Tennessee.  It  was 
related  by  Hugh  L.  White,  for  many  years  a  dis- 
tinguished judge  in  that  State,  and  afterwards  a  con- 
si^icuous  member  of  the  Federal  Senate. 

It  was  noised  through  the  town  of  Jonesborough 
that  Mr.  Axley  would  hold  forth  on  the  morning  of 
the  ensuing  Sabbath.  The  famous  divine  was  a  great 
favorite — with  none  more  than  with  Judge  White.  At 
the  appointed  hour,  the  judge,  in  company  with  a  large 
congregation,  was  in  attendance  at  the  house  of  prayer. 
All  were  hushed  in  expectation.     Mr.  Axley  entered. 


REPROOFS.  T3 

• 

but  with  him  a  clerical  brother,  .who  was  "  put  up  " 
to  preach.  The  congregation  was  composed  of  a 
border  population  ;  they  w^ere  disappointed  ;  this  was 
not  the  man  thej  had  come  to  hear,  consequently 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  misbehavior.  The  discourse 
was  ended,  and  Mr.  Axley  arose.  It  is  a  custom  in 
the  new  country,  when  two  or  more  preachers  are 
present,  for  each  of  them  to  have  something  to  say. 
The  people  opine  that  it  is  a  great  waste  of  time,  to 
come  a  long  distance  and  be  put  off  with  a  short  ser- 
vice. I  have  gone  into  church  at  8  o'clock  in  the 
morning  and  have  not  come  out  again  until  5  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon.  Short  administrations  are  the 
growth  of  thicker  settlements. 

Mr.  Axley  stood  silently  surveying  the  congrega- 
tion until  every  eye  was  riveted.     He  then  began : 

"  It  may  be  a  very  painful  duty,  but  it  is  a  very 
solemn  one,  fot  a  minister  of  the  gospel  to  reprove 
vice,  misconduct,  and  sin,  whenever  and  wherever  he 
sees  it.  But  especially  is  this  his  duty  on  Sunday 
and  at  church.  That  is  a  duty  I  am  now  about  to 
attend  to. 

"  And  now,"  continued  the  reverend  speaker,  point- 
ing with  his  long  finger  in  the  direction  indicated ; 
"  that  man  sitting  out  yonder  behind  the  door,  who 
got  up  and  went  out  while  the  brother  was  preaching, 
stayed  out  as  long  as  he  wanted  to,  got  his  boots  full 
of  mud,  came  back  and  stamped  the  mud  off  at  the 
door,  making  all  the  noise  he  could  on  purpose  to  dis- 
turb the  attention  of  the  congregation,  and  then  took 
his  seat ;  that  man  thinks  I  mean  him.  E'o  wonder 
he  does.  It  doesn't  look  as  if  he  had  been  raised  in  the 
white  settlements,  does  it,  to  behave  that  way  at 

4 


74  THE   RIFLE,    AXE,    AND    SADDLE-BAGS. 

meeting  ?  Now,  my  friend,  I'd  advise  you  to  learn 
better  manners  before  you  ct)rae  to  church  next  time. 
But  I  don't  mean  him. 

"  And  now,"  again  pointing  at  his  mark,  "  that  little 
girl  sitting  there,  about  half  way  of  the  house — I 
should  judge  her  to  be  about  sixteen  years  old — that's 
her  with  the  artificial  flowers  on  the  outside  of  her 
bonnet  and  the  inside  of  her  bonnet ;  she  has  a  breast- 
pin on,  too  (they  were  very  severe  upon  all  super- 
fluities of  dre^s),  she  that  was  giggling  and  chat- 
tering all  the  time  the  brother  was  preaching,  so  that 
even  the  old  sisters  in  the  neighborhood  couldn't 
hear  what  he  was  saying  though  they  tried  to.  She 
thiidvs  I  mean  her.  I'm  sorry  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart,  for  any  parents-  that  have  raised  a  girl  to  her 
time  of  day,  and  haven't  taught  her  how  to  behave 
when  she  comes  to  church.  Little  girl,  you  have 
disgraced  your  parents  as  well  as  yojjrself  Behave 
better  next  time,  won't  you  ?     But  I  don't  mean  her." 

Directing  his  finger  to  another  aim,  he  said,  "That 
man  sitting  there,  that  looks  as  bright  and  pert  as  if 
he  never  was  asleep  in  his  life,  and  never  expected  to 
be,  but  that  just  as  soon  as  the  brother  took  his  text, 
laid  his  head  down  on  the  back  of  the  seat  in  front 
of  him,  went  sound  asleep,  slept  the  whole  time,  and 
snored;  that  man  thinks  I  mean  him.  My  friend, 
don't  you  know  the  church  ain't  the  place  to  sleep  ? 
If  you  needed  rest,  why  didn't  you. stay  at  home, 
take  off  your  clothes,  and  go  to  bed?  that's  the  place 
to  sleep,  not  church.  The  next  time  you  have  a 
chance  to  hear  a  sermon,  I  advise  you  to  keep  awake. 
But  I  don't  mean  him."  Thus  did  he  proceed,  point- 
ing out  every  man,  woman,  and  child,  who  had  in  the 


JUDGE    WHITE    SURPRISED.  75 

slightest  deviated  from  a  befitting  line  of  conduct ; 
characterizing  the  misdemeanor  and  reading  sharp 
lessons  of  rebuke. 

Judge  White  was  all  this  time  sitting  at  the  end 
of  the  front  seat,  just  under  the  speaker,  enjoying  the 
old  gentleman's  disquisition  to  the  last  degree  ;  twist- 
ino;  his  neck  around  to  note  if  the  audience  relished 
the  "  down  comings  "  as  much  as  he  did  ;  rubbing  his 
hands,  smiling,  chuckling  inwardly.  Between  his 
teeth  and  cheek  was  a  monstrous  quid  of  tobacco, 
which  the  better  he  was  pleased  the  more  he  chewed ; 
the  more  he  chewed  the  more  he  spat,  and  behold, 
the  floor  bore  witness  to  the  results.  At  length  the 
old  gentleman,  straightening  himself  up  to  his  full 
height,  continued,  with  great  gravity : 

"  And  now  I  reckon  you  want  to  know  who  I  do 
mean?  I  mean  that  dirty,  nasty,  filthy  tobacco- 
chewier,  sitting  on  the  end  of  that  front  seat" — 
his  finger  meanwhile  poinding  true  as  the  needle  to 
the  pole — •"  see  what  he  has  been  about !  Look  at 
those  puddles  on  the  floor ;  a  frog  wouldn't  get  into 
them ;  think  of  the  tails  of  the  sisters'  dresses  being 
dragged  through  that  muck."  The  crest-fallen  judge 
averred  that  he  never  chewed  any  more  tobacco  in 
church. 

I  trust  enough  has  been  said  to  afiford  you  a  truth- 
ful and  vivid  notion  as  to  what  these  men  were.  I 
honor  them  for  their  chivalric  heroism.  I  revere 
them  for  their  lofty  faith,  their  burning  zeal,  their 
simple-hearted  piety,  a  practical  character  that  knew 
no  limits.  I  love  and  bless  them,  for  they  were  my 
own  fathers  in  the  ministry. 

That  I  have  not  exaggerated  or  shot  wide  of  the 


76  THE    RIFLE,    AXE,    AND    SADDLE-BAGS, 

mark,  let  the  folio wir.g  extract  of  a  letter  from  the 
late  President  Harrison,  whose  long  residence  in  the 
West  entitled  him  to  speak,  bear  witness : 

HAEEISON's   TESTIMO^T. 

Who  and  what  are  they?  I  answer,  entirely  composed  of 
ministers  who  are  technically  denominated  "  Circuit  riders,"  a 
body  of  men  who,  for  zeal  and  fidelity  in  the  discharge  of  the 
duties  they  undertake,  are  not  exceeded  by  any  others  in  tho 
workl.  I  have  been  a  witness  of  their  conduct  in  the  Western 
country  for  nearly  forty  years.  They  are  men  whom  no  labor 
tires,  no  scenes  disgust,  no  danger  frightens  in  tho  discharge  of 
their  duty.  To  gain  recruits  for  their  Master's  service  they  sedu- 
lously seek  out  the  victims  of  vice  in  the  abodes  of  misery  and 
wretchedness.  The  vow  of  povei-ty  is  not  taken  by  these  men, 
but  their  conduct  is  precisely  the  same  as  it  would  have  been 
had  they  taken  one.  Their  stipulated  pay  is  barely  sufficient  to 
enable  them  to  perform  the  services  assigned  them.  With  much 
the  larger  portion  the  horse  which  carries  them  is  the  only  ani- 
mated thing  which  they  can  call  their  own,  and  the  contents  of 
their  valise,  or  saddle-bags,  the»sum  total  of  their  other  earthly 
possessions. 

If  within  the  period  I  have  mentioned,  a  traveller  on  the 
western  frontier  had  met  a  stranger  in  some  obscure  way,  or 
assiduously  urging  his  course  through  tlie  intricacies  of  a  tangled 
forest,  liis  appearance  staid  and  sober,  and  his  countenance  indi- 
cating that  he  was  in  search  of  some  object  in  which  his  feelings 
were  deeply  interested,  his  apparel  plain  but  entirely  neat,  and 
his  little  baggage  adjusted  with  peculiar  com4)actness,  he  might 
be  almost  certain  tliat  that  stranger  was  a  Metliodist  preacher, 
hurrying  on  to  perform  his  daily  task  of  preacliing  to  separate 
and  distant  congregations,  and  should  the  same  ti-aveller,  upon 
approaching  some  solitary,  unfinished,  and  scarcely  habitable 
cabin,  hear  tho  praises  of  the  Creator  chanted  with  peculiar 
nK'U>dy,  or  the  doctrines  of  tlie'Saviour  urged  upon  the  attention 
of  sojne  six  or  eight  individuals,  with  the  same  energy  and  zeal 
tljat  he  had  seen  dispayed  in  addresses  to  a  crowded  audience  of 


THE   WORK    OF   THE   CLERGY.  77 

a  populous  city,  he  might  be  certain  without  inquiry,  that  it  was 
the  voice  of  a  Methodist  preacher. 

It  is  a  style  of  speech  much  in  vogue  among  cer- 
tain classes  of  litterateurs  and  philanthropists  to  sneer 
at  the  imbecility  and  cowardice  of  the  ministry. 
Sydney  Smith's  characterization  of  some  of  his  own 
fraternity,  ''  decent  debility,"  is  indiscriminately  ap- 
plied as  a  just  description  of  the  entire  body  in  this 
country.  I  have  heard  the  question  propounded  by 
a  famous  orator,  and  it  was  greeted  by  deafening 
cheers,  ^'  "What  are  the  forty  thousand  pulpits  of 
America  doing  ?  What  have  they  ever  done  for  the 
cause  of  human  progress?"  Ask  the  school-houses 
and  universities  of  E'ew  Eno^land.  Were  not  the 
clergy  their  architects  ?  did  they  not  lay  their  foun- 
dations and  build  tlieir  walls  ?  Ask  the  thousand 
agencies  in  operation  for  ameliorating  the  condition 
of  the  suffering  and  destitute,  for  reclaiming  the  vic- 
ious and  degraded,  for  saving  the  abandoned  and  lost. 
Have  not  the  clergy  devised  them  and  put  them  into 
execution  ?  Ask  the  public  conscience  and  the  pri- 
vate sense,  which  are  every  generation  growing  clearer 
in  their  recognition  of  right  and  truth,  the  morals  of 
business,  society,  and  domestic  life ;  the  standards  of 
which  every  decade  are  becoming  more  and  more 
elevated.  If  the  clergy  have  not  been  the  largest 
contributors  to  these  benign  results,  tell  me  the  names 
of  those  who  have  ?  Whose  counsels  and  words  of 
solace  have  smoothed  and  softened  the  couch  of  pain? 
Whose  hymns  have  kindled  the  light  of  immortality 
in  the  glazing  eye  ?  Whose  voice  of  prayer  has  been 
as  a  staff  upon  which  the  departing  soul  leaned  as  it 


78  THE   RIFLE, 

went  down  into  tlie  dark  floods  of  death  ?  And  who, 
when  there  was  a  vacant  chair  by  the  fireside,  and  a 
desolate  room  in  the  honse  which  it  well-nigli  broke 
the  heart  to  enter,  came  to  tell  of  Him,  who  in  Beth- 
any said,  "  I  am  the  Resm-rection  and  the  Life  ?" 
Measure  me  the  power  of  the  Sunday-school,  the 
influence  of  pastoral  visiting,  the  might  of  the  spoken 
word  and  of  the  secret  prayer,  and  estimate  their  force 
in  the  aggregate  of  our  national  life.  Because  their 
influence  is  like  that  of  the  dew,  silent,  or  as  the 
shining  of  the  sun,  familiar,  men  fail  to  recognize  and 
note  it.  Match  me  their  self-denial,  exhibited  in 
obscure  toil,  unappreciated  labor,  simple-hearted, 
ceaseless  eflorts  to  do  good,  which  get  no  sympathy 
except  from  God?  Match  me  their  tirel^s  zeal  and 
unflagging  patience,  their  offerings  upon  the  altar  of 
country  and  humanity  from  the  ranks  of  pseudo-phi- 
lanthropy, whose  God  is  reform,  whose  evangel  is 
destruction,  whose  battle-cries  are  curses? 

But  if  the  country  east  of  the  Alleghanies  fails  to 
give  satisfactory  answer  to  this  question,  then  go  and 
receive  it  in  the  cabins  of  the  West.  See  the  glorious 
structure  of  a  Christian  civilization  rising  upon  the 
soil  of  the  prairie  land,  and  take  it  as  an  attestation 
of  what  the  old  preachers  did  for  the  cause  of  human 
progress.  Although  they  were  not  the  only  laborers, 
without  them  it  never  could  have  been  reared. 

Have  you  seen  that  valley  world  in  its  wild  luxu- 
riance and  glory,  with  its  mountain  barriers  at  east 
and  west,  standing  as  sentinels  to  guard  it  from  unlaw- 
ful approach,  with  its  chain  of  gigantic  lakes  upon 
the  north,  whose  wedded  waves  lift  up  their  nuptial 
salutation  to  the  ocean  in  Niagara's  roar,  and  on  the 


THE   VISION    OF   JOHN   FITCH.  79 

sontli  a  tropic  sea  to  wash  its  coast,  traversed  from 
north  to  south  by  a  river  unmatched  among  the 
streams  of  earth,  sweeping  as  a  royal  conqueror 
along,  receiving  tribute  from  many  a  far  province  and 
distant  empire  ?  Have  yon  seen  it  with  its  ilHmitable 
reaches  of  corn  and  cotton  as  they  ripen  to  fill  the 
mouths  of  the  world,  and  keep  its  back  from  naked- 
ness ?  Have  you  seen  its  ineidiaustible  mines  of  coal, 
iron,  lead,  and  copper ;  its  quarries  of  marble  and 
fields  of  sugar?  Have  you  seen  the  husbandman 
leading  the  merchant,  the  capitalist,  and  the  manu- 
facturer by  the  hand,  bidding  them  possess  this  rich 
domain,  and  enjoy  it? 

Upon  a  noble  bluff  of  the  Ohio  river  did  the 
dreamer,  John  Fitch,  first  behold  the  vision  of  steam 
applied  to  navigation.  Here  is  the  prophecy  of  the 
seer  receiving  its  amplest  fulfillment.  Here  is  that 
mightiest  vassal  of  man's  mechanical  genius  working 
its  sublimest  results. 

Here  are  fom-teen  sovereign  States,  with  populous 
and  thriving  cities,  almost  the  product  of  Aladdin's 
Lamp,  with  busy  hordes  of  growing  millions,  with 
steamboats,  railroads,  magazines  and  warehouses 
unnumbered,  with  mineral,  agricultural,  and  commer- 
cial wealth  beyond  our  power  to  estimate. 

Here  is  society  starting  on  a  higher  plane  than  it 
has  ever  travelled,  and  man  girding  himself  for  a 
grander  task  than  he  has  ever  wrought.  Woman,  at 
home  almost  for  the  first  time,  the  sacredness  of  her 
nature  ensured  by  the  sanctity  of  her  position,  infancy 
at  play,  childhood  at  school,  all  alike  greeted  by  the 
hallowed  beam  of  the  Sabbath;  and  all  invited  to 
the  porch  and  altar  of  prayer.     These  attest  the  glory 


80  TUE    RIFLE,    AXE,    AND    SADDLE-BAGS. 

of  the  land;  these  promise  what  its  future  shall 
be. 

Fifteen  years  ago  I  stood  in  the  village  of  Chicago. 
It  was  a  miserable,  "  sunken "  hamlet.  Ten  years 
ago  I  was  there  again.  It  had  grown,  yet  was  any- 
thing but  a  promising  place.  Six  months  ago  I  was 
there  again.  I  found  a  city  of  a  hundred  thousand 
inhabitants.  Hackmen  and  omnibus-drivers,  rascally 
even  as  Kew  York  can  boast ;  hotels  so  crowded  that 
beds  covered  the  floors  of  the  parlors  and  all  spare 
rooms ;  landlords  as  impudent  and  insulting  as  prosper- 
ity and  vulgarity  could  make  them ;  houses  as  preten- 
tious in  appearance,  and  snobbish  in  furniture,  as  any 
in  Fifth  Avenue  ;  a  j^opulation  gone  mad  with  money. 
I  found  a  city  which  was  a  depot  for  thirty  railroads, 
and  yet  that  but  three  years  ago  had  not  a  solitary 
line  of  iron  bars  entering  it.  I  saw  the  greatest  entre- 
pot for  grain  in  the  world.  I  saw  clear-headed,  great- 
hearted men  working  for  the  mental,  social,  moral, 
and  spiritual  elevation  of  the  masses.  I  saw  a  theatre 
for  heroic  ambition  and  god-like  attributes  to  exer- 
cise themselves,  withal  such  as  the  world  has  seldom 
had. 

I  saw  the  State  of  Illinois,  the  adopted  State  of 
my  boyhood,  the  scene  of  my  early  ministry,  its 
population  doubling  in  five  years,  the  value  of  its 
real  estate  doubled  in  two. 

And  now  remember,  that  five  and  seventy  years 
ago  the  whole  region  west  of  the  Alleghanies 
was  a  wilderness,  battled  for  and  held,  against  the 
combined  powers  of  the  British  government,  the 
painted  savages,  and  the  wild  beasts,  by  scarcely  a 
himdred  armed  men  of  the  American  breed.     A6 


THE   PIONEERS    WORK 


81 


barbarity  and  fate  thinned  their  ranks,  recruits  were 
gained.  Tears,  blows,  privations,  hardships,  toil 
and  blood,  did  these  men  pay  down  as  the  ransom 
for  this  goodly  heritage.  The  land  is  ours  in  virtue  of 
the  price.  We  and  the  future  owe  the  noblest 
domam  upon  which  the  sun  now  shines  to  the  valor, 
the  patience,  the  fortitude,  the  zeal  and  Christian  love 
of  the  heroes  of  the  rifle,   axe,  and  saddle-bags. 


4* 


SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT; 


OB, 


THE  TEIDMPHS  OF  GENIUS  OVER  BLINDNESS. 


SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT ; 


THE  TRIUMPHS  OF  GENIUS  OVER  BLINDNESS. 


Caee,  with  its  microscopic  eje,  magnifies  our  petty 
troubles,  and  a  complaining  murmur  becomes  the 
ordinary  tone  of  voice.  As  years  draw  on,  routine 
robs  existence  of  its  primal  freshness ;  and  common- 
place, accepted  as  a  destiny,  lays  on  us 

"  A  weight  heavy  as  frost  and  deep  almost  as  life." 

I  am  not  familiar  with  the  expression  of  the  human 
face  divine ;  but  from  what  little  I  have  been  able 
to  catch  of  it,  I  should  say  its  prevailing  tone  when 
in  repose,  is  one  of  dissatisfaction  and  discontent.  An 
ear  that  has  become  practised  and  delicate  through 
necessity  in  interpreting  the  moods  of  mind  by  the 
inflections  of  the  voice,  detects  on  every  hand  in  these 
most  subtle  exponents  of  character,  the  presence  of 
weariness  and  languor.  The  world  freights  us  with 
its  burdens,  and  we  bear  them,  for  the  most  part,  at 

85 


86  SONGS    IN   THE   NIGHT. 

best  with  a  dogged  indifference.  Tlie  spirit  hath  lost 
its  romance  :  the  glory  and  the  dream  have  disap- 
peared from  our  universe ;  utilitarianism  scouts  the 
ideal  as  a  vagary,  and  we  plod  through  the  cold, 
unpoetic  earth,  saddened  and  heavy  laden,  ofttimes 
longing  for  the  rest  of  the  last  silence. 

I  know  not  a  more  benign  office  than  the  ministry 
of  cheerfulness,  nor  one  more  needed. 

Will  you  suffer  me  then  to  read  you  a  lesson  this 
evening — a  lesson  of  content — strength  and  hope 
drawn  from  the  story  of  those  whose  lot  has  been  far 
more  drear  and  dismal  than  your  own  ?  Such  have 
been,  who  have  not  found  the  world  a  workhouse  for 
vagrants  and  culprits ;  nor  a  hospital  tenanted  by  pes- 
tilence and  helpless  misery  ;  nor  yet  a  Potter's  Field 
for  the  burial  of  paupers  ;  nor  an  amphitheatre  for 
gladiatorial  exhibitions ;  nor  a  tavern  for  drunken 
revelry,  followed  hard  by  deadly  despair ;  nor  a  Cor- 
so  in  carnival,  where  giddy  folly  and  masquerading 
mirth  are  bought  by  a  long  Lent  of  vigil,  fast,  and 
tearless  self-torture. 

Such  have  been,  wdio  have  found  the  world  a  system 
of  nice  adjustments  and  beneficent  balances,  where 
hearty  labor  receives  its  reward,  and  patient  waiting 
brings  the  watclier  a  priceless  boon  ;  where  infirmity 
finds  amplest  compensation ;  where  eternal  laws,  in 
their  silent  majesty,  are  enforcing  order,  restoring 
chaos  to  harmony  and  bringing  out  of  evil,  good. 

Such  hav^e  been — affliction  could  not  subdue  them, 
nor  darkness  overwhelm  them.  Would  that  the  cho- 
rus of  their  full  voices  from  their  historic  heights 
might  fall  upon  our  ears  with  such  stirring  power  that 
we  should  be  roused  from  letharp^v  and  sloth  to  walk 


BEAUTY   AmD   EFFECTS   OF  LIGHT.  87 

our  way,  however  rugged,  up  to  tlie  mountain  sum- 
mits, where  for  all  the  valiant  are  crowns  and  robes 
and  palms  of  victory. 

Who  in  fitting  strains  shall  sing  the  praise  of  light  ? 
It  trembles  as  it  flows  in  sympathetic  currents  through 
the  deepening  dusk  from  the  sweet  star  of  evening, 
herald  of  that  pomp  of  worlds  which  darkness  alone 
reveals, 

"  Piles  of  crystal  light, 
A  glorious  company  of  golden  streams, 
Lamps  of  celestial  ether  burning  bright, 
Suns  lighting  systems  with  their  joyous  beams." 

At  dawn  it  frets  and  glows  along  the  eastern  sky  with 
its  grey  hue,  and  then  its  purpling  or  its  crimson 
blush.  At  the  hush  of  summer  mid-day,  in  country 
places,  it  seems  to  flood  the  firmament  and  earth  with 
a  silent  sea  of  glory.  Behind  the  retiring  storm,  it 
builds  across  the  heavens  the  triple  arch  of  beauty, 
not  in  token  of  the  tempest's  victory,  but  in  pledge 
that  floods  and  winds  shall  no  longer  be  triumphant. 
At  the  end  of  the  day's  circuit,  it  gathers  the  clouds 
for  the  pageantry  of  sunset,  arrays  them  in  their 
thousand  liveries  of  dazzling,  softening  radiance,  and , 
when  the  bridegroom  clad  in  amber  robes  is  gone, 
sends  them  to  sleep,  or  to  float  beneath  a  star-wrought 
canopy.  In  the  still  depths  beneath  the  troubled  sea 
it  works  its  strange  and  silent  alchemy,  and  the 
worthless  oyster  becomes  a  pearl  of  price.  It  en- 
shrines itself  in  a  pebble,  and  thenceforth  men  call 
that  pebble  "  the  mountain  of  light."  It  is  the  apoca- 
lypse of  the  universe.  And  when  you  would  render 
to  the  intellect  the  loftiest  thought  of  God,  you  say 
that  he  is  Light,  and  in  Him  is  no  darkness  at  all. 


88  SONGS   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

But  why  with  my  poor  words  do  I  seek  to  tell  its 
praise,  when  those  of  a  master  are  ready  to  our 
purpose  ? 

"  Hail,  holy  light,  offspring  of  Heaven,  first-born, 
Or  of  the  eternal  co-eternal  beam  ; 
May  I  express  thee  unblamed  ?  since  God  is  light, 
And  never  but  in  unapproached  light. 
Dwelt  from  eternity,  dwelt  then  in  thee. 
Bright  effluence  of  bright  essence  increate  ; 
Or  hear'st  thou  rather,  pure,  ethereal  stream, 
"Whose  fountain,  who  shall  tell  ?    Before  the  sun, 
Before  the  Heavens  thou  wert,  and  at  the  voice 
Of  God,  as  with  a  mantle,  didst  invest 
The  rising  world  of  waters,  dark  and  deep, 
Won  from  the  void  and  formless  infinite  1" 

On  the  other  hand,  consider  its  complement — the 
most  complex  and  delicate  of  our  organs,  with  its 
lenses,  coats  and  humors,  constituting  the  brain's 
mouth,  to  drink  in  the  ceaseless  tides  of  knowledge  ; 
its  receptacle,  in  which  are  garnered  the  varied  and 
combined  impressions  of  the  outer  world.  Wonderful 
and  fearful  organism,  the  human  eye,  upon  whose 
retina  of  a  pin's  head  size  is  mirrored,  in  exactest  pro- 
portion, the  scope  of  the  firmament  and  the  reach  of 
the  earth,  with  all  the  objects,  from  greatest  to  least, 
which  they  contain  !  "What  fountains  of  benediction 
are  opened,  through  its  magic  spell,  to  the  sons  of 
men  !  Yet,  there  are  those  -to  whom  its  exercise  is 
an  inscrutable  mystery  ;  to  whom  the  light  hath  ever 
been  a  stranger.  The  daily  forms  of  vision,  to  you 
so  dull  and  common-place,  would  by  them  be  prized 
above  the  wealth  of  empires.  The  ruddy  glow  of  the 
hearth-side,  the  friend's  response  to  an  uttered  tliought. 


THE   EYE.  89 

the  deep  emotion,  wliicli  telegraphs  its  signal  to  the 
cheek,  the  glance  of  unspeakable  affection,  which 
beams  in  the  eye  of  wife  or  child,  amid  household 
cares,  and  joys,  the  sympathy,  wliich  "is  our  human 
nature's  highest  dower,"  lending^its  divine  expression 
to  the  Tace  of  clay — all  these  to  them  are  only  names, 
signifying  well-nigh  nothing. 

Yet  have  I  never  seen  or  read  of  a  morbid  or 
unhappy  blind  man.  A  tranquil  hope,  an  assurance 
imparting  quiet  animation,  renders  tolerable  this  great 
calamity.  Amid  the  trials  of  their  lot,  the  ample 
resources  of  our  nature,  latent  and  undreamed  of  in 
ordinary  life,  vindicate  the  blessed  compensations 
which  attest  the  government  of  love. 

"  Thus  are  God's  ways  vindicated  ;  and  at  length,  we  slowly  gain, 
As  our  needs  dispel  our  blindness,  some  faint  glimpses  of  the  chain 
Which  connects  the  earth  with  heaven,  right  with  wrong,  and  good 

with  ill- 
Links  in  one  harmonious  movement." — 

The  literature  of  this  subject  is  far  more  copious 
than  one  who  had  not  made  it  a  branch  of  S2:>ecial 
inquiry  would  imagine.  I  need  not  seek  to  pierce 
the  mists  of  antiquity,  and  lay  bare  the  deeds  of  those 
to  whom  Milton  so  touchingly  alludes^  nor  sometimes 
forget — 

"  Those  other  two  equalled  with  me  in  fate, 
So  were  I  equalled  with  them  in  renown- 
Blind  Thamyris  and  blind  Maeonides, 
Tiresias  and  Phineas — prophets  old  " — 

tearing  from  them  the  mythologic  mantle,  with  which 
the  Hellenic  imagination  invested  them. 


90  SONGS    IN   THE   NIGHT. 

Nor  TTould  space  serve  to  detail  the  lives  of  Diodotus 
— Cicero's  preceptor  in  geometry  and  Greek  pliiloso- 
pliy — to  whose  excellence  and  learning  the  orator 
renders  his  grateful  tribute,  nor  of  Didymus,  the  most 
famous  man  for  leai-ning  in  Alexandria  in  his  time — 
(the  4th  century) — the  instructor  of  St.  Jerome — the 
repute  of  whose  wisdom  and  sanctity  attracted  the 
stern  hermit,  St.  Anthony,  from  his  desert  home  ;  nor 
of  Democritus  the  Grecian  sage,  who  is  said  by  some 
to  have  put  out  his  eyes  that  he  might  prosecute  his 
speculations  to  greater  advantage.  JS'or  yet,  may  I 
linger  to  detail  the  struggles  and  successes  of  Scapi- 
nelli,  who  stood  pre-eminent  among  his  Italian  con- 
temporaries for  genius  and  learning,  filling  the  chair 
of  poetry  and  eloquence  in  the  universities  of  Pisa, 
Modena,  Bologna,  and  who  contributed  as  much  as 
any  man  of  the  period  to  the  revival  of  learning ;  nor 
of  Hulderic  Schoenenbergen,  a  celebrated  German 
scholar  and  professor  of  the  Oriental  languages  and 
literature ;  nor  of  IS'icasius  de  Yoerda,  and  Nicholas 
Bacon — both  gentlemen  of  the  Netherlands — who  by 
their  erudition  acquired  and  deserved  the  degree  of 
doctor  of  the  canon  and  civil  laws  ;  nor  of  the  Count 
de  Pagan,  father  of  the  modern  science  of  fortification. 
Time  would  fail  me  to  speak  of  Francis  Salinus,  a 
Spanish  musician ;  or  of  John  Sinclair,  an  English 
performer ;  or  of  Dr.  Blacklock,  a  man  of  letters  j 
or  of  Anna  "Williams,  a  Welch  poetess,  and  protegee 
of  Dr.  Johnson ;  or  of  John  Wilson,  whose  memory 
seems  to  have  been  as  marvellous  as  Magliabecchi's 
own  ;  or  of  Holman,  the  traveller,  who  made  a  circuit 
of  the  earth,  visiting  nearly  all  the  places  of  interest, 
of  which  he  has  given  agreeable  descriptions  in  his 


EMINENT   BLIND    MEN.  91 

books ;  or  of  hosts  of  others,  who,  although  with 
darkness  and  with  dangers  compassed  round,  have  yet 
won  distinction  in  their  respective  spheres,  and  shown 
how  man  can  triumph  with  such  fearful  odds  against 
him. 

Mj  desire  is  to  make  special  mention  of  a  few,  who 
are  entitled  to  our  regard  and  admiration,  by  the 
noble  and  inspiring  lessons  they  have  taught. 

Euler,  the  most  eminent  European  mathematician 
of  the  last  century,  lost  his  sight  by  too  strenuous 
application  to  his  studies,  at  the  age  of  fifty-nine. 
Undaunted,  however,  by  this  calamity,  which  would 
have  paralyzed  most  men's  energies,  he  prosecutes 
with  changeless  purpose,  his  scientific  inquiries  and 
calculations.  From  the  unbroken  gloom  issued  a 
number  of  his  most  remarkable  works  ;  among  them 
his  elements  of  algebra,  a  new  theory  of  the  moon's 
motions  with  tables,  which  latter  are  considered  by 
those  best  prepared  to  judge,  a  prodigy  of  constant 
industry  and  unflagging  patience.  Cheerful  to  a  pro- 
verb, his  kindly  nature  shed  light  upon  all  who  came 
within  his  circle. 

Nicholas  Saunderson  was  born  in  the  village  of 
Thurston,  Yorkshire,  in  the  year  1682.  At  the  age  of 
six  months,  he  lost  not  only  his  sight  by  an  attack 
of  the  small  pox,  but  even  his  eyes,  which  were 
discharged  in  abscesses.  The  father's  heart  softened 
to  tenderness  toward  the  afflicted  child,  and  notwith- 
standing he  was  only  a  poor  excise  officer,  with  nar- 
row means,  he  determined  to  do  all  in  his  power,  to 
place  the  advantages  of  a  superior  education  at  the 
disposal  of  his  son.  Accordingly,  at  an  early  age 
the  boy  was  sent  to  school  in  the  neighboring  vil- 


92  SONGS    IN    THE   NIGHT. 

lage  of  Pennistoun.  Here  he  made  astonisliing  pro- 
gress, not  only  in  English  but  also  in  Latin  and 
Greek,  surpassing  all  his  fellows  in  rapidity  of  acqui- 
sition, as  well  as  in  avaricious  retention  of  his  stores. 
He  early  became  so  apt  a  Latin  scholar,  that  he  was 
ever  after  able  to  speak  and  write  it  as  fluently  and 
correctly  as  the  Enghsh ;  and  so  full  and  accurate 
was  his  acquaintance  with  the  Greek,  that  he  listened 
to  the  reading  of  books  in  that  tongue  with  as  easy 
and  perfect  a  comprehension  as  if  written  in  the  ver- 
nacular. Unfortunately,  the  method  adopted  by  his 
preceptor  for  the  instruction  of  this  remarkable  pupil 
has  not  been  preserved  to  us. 

The  father's  circumstances  becoming  more  strait- 
ened, it  was  deemed  necessary  to  remove  the  boy 
from  school.  Desiring  to  make  such  amends  as  lay 
w^ithin  his  reach  for  the  privation  thus  imposed — for 
the  boy  had  shown  an  insatiate  craving  for  knowledge 
— the  father  gave  him  his  first  lessons  in  arithmetic. 
Neighboring  gentlemen  proffered  their  services  to 
teach  him  algebra  and  geometry.  Ere  long  the  mas- 
ters had  nothing  left  to  teach ;  for  it  was  discovered 
that  great  as  was  the  lad's  aptitude  for  the  languages, 
his  capacity  for  the  science  of  numbers  was  yet 
greater.  Through  the  eyes  of  others,  he  studied  the 
works  of  Diophantus,  Archimedes  and  Euclid,  in  the 
original. 

He  was  now  three  and  twenty  years  of  age,  but 
without  a  profession  or  honorable  means  of  livelihood. 
What  shall  he  do  ?  Led  by  a  dog  must  he  take  his 
stand  by  the  roadside  to  beg  of  the  passers-by,  or  with 
staff  and  wallet,  trudge  a  weary  way  telling  his  pite- 
ous tale  from  door  to  door,  that  the  sight  of  his  in- 


NICHOLAS    SAUNDEESON.  93 

firmity  may  move  the  beholder  to  an  ahns  ;  becaii&e 
God's  sunshine  is  shnt  out  from  him  ?  Must  the  blind 
man  be  an  object  of  commiseration  without  a  sphere 
of  independent  activity,  cut  off  from  all  the  noble 
vocatioDs  of  life,  doomed  to  the  dole  of  charity  and 
the  weakening  voice  of  compassion?  Though  his 
burden  be  a  heavy  one,  shall  his  only  business  be  to 
recite  its  weight,  and  to  disgrace  existence  by  com- 
plaint? For  the  sightless  man,  as  for  every  other, 
there  is  ennobling  work  to  do,  and  noble  wages  attend 
the  doing.  -  Bereft  as  he  is,  is  he  not  too  a  man  ?  Ko 
pensioner  upon  others'  bounty  will  Nicholas  Saunder- 
son  be,  if  he  can  help  it.  Where  tliere  is  a  will  to 
work,  God  provides  the  w^ay.  A  fellow  of  Christ's 
College,  Cambridge,  visits  Thurston  about  this  time  ; 
hears  of  the  blind  prodigy,  but  cannot  credit  the 
report.  He  comes  to  see  him  for  himself,  and  finds 
that  the  half  had  not  been  told.  Struck  by  Saunder- 
son's  acquirements  and  accomplishments,  the  collegian 
mvites  him  to  the  university.  The  invitation  is 
accepted.  The  other  fellows,  interested  in  the  story 
of  their  companion,  vote  the  blind  man  chambers, 
access  to  their  library,  and  the  use  of  their  eyes  in 
availing  himself  of  its  treasures.  Moreover,  arrange- 
ments are  made  for  Saunderson  to  give  a  course  of 
lectures.  The  subject  selected  is  optics  ;  Sir  Isaac 
IS'ewton's  Principia  had  just  been  published ;  but  the 
work  of  th$  great  philosopher  was  not  duly  appreci- 
ated, even  by  scholars.  Among  the  very  first  to  hail 
and  estimate  the  immortal  work  was  our  blind  lecturer, 
who  used  it  as  the  basis  for  his  prelections,  thereby 
doing  as  much  as  any  other  man  in  England  to  intro- 
duce   it    into    general   favor.      Curiosity    attracted 


94  SONGS   IN   THE    NIGHT. 

crowds,  to  hear  what  a  man  who  had  never  seen 
coukl  say  concerning  light  and  vision.  The  gape  of 
idle  wonder  was  exchanged  for  the  tribnte  of  applause. 
So  ample  and  exact  was  the  lecturer's  comprehension 
of  his  snl)ject,  so  admirable  his  method  of  treatment, 
his  luminous  style,  his  agreeable,  unostentatious  man- 
ner, that  the  multitude  which  came  to  stare,  remained 
to  learn.  The  course  of  lectures  was  a  success ;  honest 
bread  was  earned  by  honest  toil;  the  blind  man  had 
found  his  vocation. 

Some  years  after  this,  the  eccentric  "William  Wins- 
ton, Sir  Isaac  ISTewton's  successor  in  the  Lucasian 
chair  of  mathematics  at  Cambridge,  was  ejected  from 
his  dignity.  Xewton  was  still  alive,  and  was  consulted 
as  to  the  proper  person  to  fill  the  place.  His  choice 
fell  on  Saunderson.  The  nomination  was  heartily  ac- 
cepted by  the  university.  But  it  was  necessary  that 
a  special  order  should  be  issued  by  the  crown,  to 
authorize  the  conferrinc^  the  des^ree  of  M.  A.  on  a 
non-graduate.  The  heads  of  colleges  presented  the 
petition,  which  was  graciously  answered  by  the 
king ;  ffnd  our  blind  friend,  at  the  age  of  nine-and- 
twenty,  was  inducted  into  the  office,  which  had  been 
rendered  illustrious  by  the  discoverer  of  gravitation. 
Nor  was  the  honor  unworthily  bestowed.  Saundersou 
did  credit  to  the  chair  which  had  been  filled  by 
x^ewton. 

Tljenceforth  he  devoted  himself  to  the  service  of 
liis  pupils,  both  as  their  instructor  and  companion. 
His  labors,  as  a  preceptor,  were  diversified  by  the 
composition  of  several  mathematical  works,  which 
took  a  high  rank  among  books  of  their  class,  and 
also  by  tlie  iTivcution  of  apparatus  for  his  mechanical 


REMARKABLE   SENSE   OF   HEARING.  95 

pursuits.  Maintaining  an  iinclieckered  cheerfulness, 
his  animaiipd  conversation  and  large  sympathies  made 
him  the  soul  of  every  circle  in  which  he  chanced  to 
move. 

His  other  senses,  and  those  intellectual  faculties 
which  seem  to  lie  next  the  senses,  afforded  him 
an  almost  ample  substitution  for  eyesight.  The 
fine  hearing  and  delicate  touch  of  the  blind  have 
passed  into  an  adage.  These  Saunderson  possessed  in 
their  highest  perfection.  The  sound  of  his  footfall  in 
a  room  enabled  him  to  fqtrm  a  closely  proximate 
notion  of  the  dimensions  and  character  of  the  apart- 
ment. Having  once  crossed  a  threshold,  so  distinct 
was  his  individualization  of  every  locality,  that  he 
would  always  know  it  again,  even  after  the  lapse  of 
many  years.  The  reverberation  of  his  tread  enabled 
him  to  judge  with  wonderful  accuracy  as  to  the  char- 
acter of  objects  from  five  to  twenty  yards  distant. 
Thus  he  was  able  to  distinguish  a  tree  from  a  post  at 
the  distance  of  five  yards ;  of  a  fence  from  a  house 
at  fifteen  or  twenty  yards.  From  my  own  experi- 
ence I  have  never  been  able  to  decide,  nor  am  I  able 
to  state  upon  the  testimony  of  others  deprived  of 
sight,  whether  this  intelligence  be  derived  through 
the  ear,  or  through  the  delicate  nerves  of  the  face, 
which,  thrilling  through  the  vibrations  of  the  atmos- 
phere, receive  and  impart  to  the  brain  sensations 
unnoticed  by  those  who  use  their  eyes.  I  am,  how- 
ever, strongly  inclined  to  the  oj^inion  that  there  is 
such  a  refined  susceptibility  of  the  skin  and  nerves, 
as  to  amount  almost  to  a  supplemental  sense.  What- 
ever may  be  the  ground  for  this  opinion,  it  is  certain 
that  Saunderson  was  conscious  of  objects,  the  per- 


96  SONGS   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

ceptioii  of  which  by  a  blind  man  will  seem  quite 
incredible  to  many.  It  is  related  upon  goochauthority 
that  when  out  in  the  garden  with  his  pupils,  they 
making  observations  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  he  was 
able  to  tell  quickly  and  certainly  as  they,  when  a 
cloud  obscured  a  star  or  hid  the  disk  of  the  sun. 

Though  a  rayless  gloom  encompassed  him,  he  shed 
light  upon  the  path  of  others.  His  ringing  laugh 
it  did  one  good  to  hear.  Constant  industry  gave  dig- 
nity to  his  days — to  his  nights,  repose.  Deprived  of 
the  imperial  sense,  he  bore' his  loss  with  fortitude,  and 
performed  his  part  with  courage  ;  and  when  scarcely 
past  the  noon  of  life,  went  down  to  the  grave  lamented 
by  all  who  knew  him. 

One  can  readily  imagine  that  a  man  destitute  of 
vision,  through  necessity  and  practice  should  come  to 
great  readiness  and  power  in  the  combination  of 
numbers.  Such  of  the  blind  as  have  been  moderately 
endowed  with  capacity,  and  have  been  persevering 
in  their  eiforts,  have  almost  invariably  shown  great 
skill  in  the  mathematics.  Simply  as  regards  dis- 
tinction and  great  attainment  in  the  pure  science,  I 
know  not  why  its  disciples  might  not  as  well  all  be 
blind.  But  when  a  man  with  darkened  orbs  passes 
from  the  realms  of  abstraction  into  nature,  to  become 
a  student  of  her  marvels,  to  observe  her  cunning  arts, 
to  note  and  explain  her  mysteries,  he  sets  himself  a 
task,  the  i)erlormance  of  which  seems  to  be  hopeless. 
Such  was  the  province  selected  by  Francis  Iluber,  a 
Geneveso  born  about  1750.  At  the  age  of  seventeen, 
he  lost  his  sight  by  gutta  serena.  At  first  his  misfor- 
timc  threatened  to  crush  him,  because  he  had  lost 
not  only  the  light  of  the  outer  world,  but  as  he  feared, 


FRANCIS    nUBEE.  97 

the  light  of  his  inner  life — the  woman  he  loved. 
The  daughter  of  a  Swiss  syndic,  Marie  Aimee  Lnllin, 
had  not  only  station,  but  beauty,  intelligence,  wit, 
and  accomplishments.  Many  were  the  suitors  who 
thronged  around  her,  and  the  father  was  bitterly  op- 
posed to  her  union  with  the  blind  youth  ;  but  what  is 
parental  hostility  or  toil,  or  privation  to  a  generous  wo- 
man, when  to  the  throb  of  affection  is  added  the  claim 
of  sympathy  ?  His  infirmity  insured  him  the  prize, 
and  that  won,  he  was  made  happy  for  life.  During  the 
forty  years  of  their  married  life,  her  love  deepened 
and  strengthened,  her  devotion  knew  not  an  hour's  sus- 
pension. She  was  his  reader,  his  secretary,  his  obser- 
ver. During  the  wars,  she  would  make  him  aware 
of  the  position  of  the  armies  by  sticking  pins  in  the 
map,  to  denote  the  different  bodies  of  troops.  When 
they  came  into  a  strange  locality  she  would  arrange 
a  ground  plan  that  he  might  become  familiar  with  the 
features  through  the  touch.  At  her  death  he  said  he 
had  never  before  known  the  pressure  of  his  misfortune. 
During  his  lifetime  he  used  to  say,  "  my  blindness  is 
not  so  much  of  a  calamity  after  all.  But  for  it  I 
never  could  have  known  how  much  a  man  can  be 
beloved.  Moreover,"  he  would  add,  "  to  me  my  wife 
is  always  young,  fair,  and  pretty  ;  there  are  no  grey 
hairs,  crow's  feet,  or  wrinkles,  and  that  is  a  great 
matter." 

Huber's  father  was  a  man  of  sprightly  intellect, 
and  brilliant  conversation,  with  a  decided  predilec- 
tion for  natural  history.  These  traits  were  inherited 
by  the  son.  His  taste  for  natui-al  history  was  con- 
firmed by  the  study  of  such  works  as  fell  in  his  way. 
The  treatises  of  Reaumer  and   Bonnet  upon  the  bee, 

5 


98  SONGS    IN   THE   NIGHT. 

deeply  interested  him  in  that  wonder  of  the  insect 
world.  He  commenced  his  observations  to  verify 
some  statements  which  he  had  read,  and  then  to  fill 
some  blanks  which  had  been  left  by  other  naturalists. 
His  habitual  residence  in  the  country  was  favorable 
to  this  pursuit,  and  thenceforth  his  life  was  devoted  to 
it. 

He  carried  on  his  observations  through  the  eyes  of 
his  wife — -of  a  faitliful  servant  whom  he  trained  for 
the  purpose,  and  subsequently  of  his  son.  His  sagac- 
ity directed  their  attention  to  points  which  they  had 
overlooked ;  his  intelligence  suggested  new  methods 
of  .inquiry,  whilst  his  imaginative  conception  of  the 
whole  subject  was  so  clear  and  precise,  that  he  was 
able  to  detect  the  slightest  error,  and  suggest  the 
means  of  remedy.  "  I  am  much  more  certain  of  what 
I  declare  to  the  world  than  you  are,"  said  he,  one  day, 
to  a  friend,  "  for  you  publish  what  your  own  eyes 
only  have  seen,  while  I  take  the  mean  among  many 
witnesses."  The  publication  of  his  first  observations 
appeared  in  1792  in  the  form  of  letters  to  Col.  Bon- 
net under  the  title  of  "  ISTouvelles  Observations  sur 
les  Abeilles.'  This  work  made  a  strong  impression 
upon  many  naturalists,  not  only  from  the  novelty  of 
its  fiicts,  but  from  their  rigorous  exactness,  and  the 
amazing  difficulty  whicli  the  author  overcame  with 
BO  much  ability.  But  his  investigations  were  neither 
relaxed  by  the  flatteiing  reception  of  his  first  publi- 
cation, which  might  have  been  sufficient  to  gratify  his 
self-love,  nor  even  by  his  separation  from  liis  faithful 
servant. 

Tlie  origin  of  the  wax  was  at  tliat  time  a  point  in 
the  history  of  bees  nmch  disputed  by  naturalists.     By 


HIS    INVESTIGATIONS   IN    BEES.  99 

some  it  was  asserted,  tlioiigli  without  sufficient  proof, 
that  it  was  fabricated  by  the  bee  from  the  honey. 
Huber,  who  had  ah*eady  happily  cleared  up  the  ori- 
gin of  the  propolis,  conhrmed  this  opinion  with  re- 
spect to  the  wax,  by  numerous  observations ;  and 
showed  very  particularly  (what  baffled  the  skill  of 
all  naturalists  before  him)  how  it  escaped  in  a 
laminated  form  from  between  the  rings  of  the  abdo- 
men. 

During  the  course  of  his  observations  with  Bernens 
(his  servant),  his  wife  and  sons  for  assistants,  he  insti- 
tuted laborious  researches  to  discover  how  the  bees 
build  their  storehouses.  He  followed  step  by  step 
the  whole  construction  of  those  wonderful  hives, 
which  seem  by  their  perfection,  to  resolve  the  most 
delicate  problems  of  geometry  ;  he  assigned  to  each 
class  of  bees,  the  part  it  takes  in  this  construction, 
and  traced  their  labors  from  the  rudiments  of  the 
first  cell,  to  the  completed  perfection  of  the  comb.  He 
made  known  the  ravages  whicli  the  sphinx  atropos 
produces  in  the  hives ;  he  made  ingenious  inquiries 
respecting  the  locality  and  history  of  the  bee's  senses ; 
he  discovered  that  they  consume  oxygen  gas  like  other 
animals,  and  how,  by  a  particular  motion  of  their 
wings,  they  renovate  the  atmosphere  in  the  hive. 

Since  the  days  and  brilliant  achievements  of  Huber, 
naturalists  have  not  been  able  to  add  any  consider- 
able discovery  to  the  history  of  bees.  The  second 
volume  of  his  observations  was  published  in  1814,  and 
was  edited  in  part  by  his  son. 

But  his  valuable  contributions  to  science  were  not 
the  only  tributaries  to  his  fame.  As  a  writer  he  pos- 
sessed more  than  ordinary  merit.     The  elegance  of 


100  SONGS   m   THE   NIGHT. 

liis  style,  brilliant  with  the  light  of  imagination, 
leads  us  to  infer  that  he  might  have  been  a  poet 
as  well  as  naturalist.  In  tlie  various  relations  of 
life  he  displayed  such  sweetness  of  temper  as  made 
him  beloved  by  all  his  large  circle  of  friends.  He 
spent  the  evening  of  his  life  at  Lausanne,  under  the 
care  of  his  daughter  Madame  de  Molin. 

Huber  retained  his  faculties  to  the  last.  At  the 
age  of  eighty-one,  in  a  letter  to  one  of  his  friends,  he 
writes  thus  :  "  There  is  a  time  when  it  is  impossible 
to  remain  neglectful ;  it  is  when  separating  gradually 
from  those  we  love,  we  may  reveal  all  that  esteem^ 
tenderness  and  gratitude  have  inspired  us  with  to- 
ward them."  He  further  adds  :  "  Resignation  and 
serenity  are  blessings  which  have  not  been  refused." 
He  wrote  these  lines  on  the  20lh  of  December,  1831^ 
and  on  the  22d  he  was  no  more.  He  died  without 
pain  or  agony,  w^hile  in  the  arms  of  liis  daughter. 

Tliere  is  another  name  too  honorable  to  be  omi  ted 
from  onr  list;  I  mean  that  of  Augustin  Tlii-ony,  the 
great  French  historian,  of  whose  death  we  hoar,  as 
these  pages  are  printed.  His  life  and  labors  teach 
a  double  lesson ;  of  patience  and  happiness  under 
heavy  affliction,  and  the  other,  hardly  less  worthy,  of 
the  pervading  power  of  well-directed  philosopliic 
study  and  mental  activity.  Thierry  was  only  about 
fifteen,  a  youth  in  college,  when  from  perus- 
ing the  historic  writings  of  Chateaubriand  and 
the  quasi-historic  writings  of  Walter  Scott,  and 
especially,  as  it  is  said,  from  the  inllnence  of  Chateau- 
briand's noble  description  of  the  (K'S])erate  sli-ijo-gle 
iu  the  Batavian  swamps  between  the  Franks  fighting 


AUGUSTIN   THTEPwRT.  101 

for  tlieir  freedom  and  their  Roman  invaders,  his  mind 
and  purposes  received  a  direction  and  impulse  so 
ahiding,  that  they  histed  through  a  lifetime  of  labor. 
After  a  year  or  two  of  varied  and  miscellaneous 
literary  industry,  he  plunged  into  a  wearisome  series 
of  investigations  among  mediaeval  manuscripts  and 
records,  pursued  uninterruptedly  up  to  1828,  in  which 
year  the  result  appeared  in  the  magnificent  "  History 
of  the  Norman  Conquest  in  England  " — and  in  the 
loss  of  the  writer's  eyesight.  This  work  was 
the  proclamation  of  a  new  epoch  in  French  his- 
tory. In  it  Thierry  made  the  first  adequate  presen- 
tation of  the  theory  w^hich  he  had  learned  from  his 
great  masters,  and  of  the  practice  which  he  had 
pursued  under  it,  in  his  obscure  and  profound  research- 
es. He  dealt  with  the  third  estate^  the  mass  of  the 
people,  so  universally  ignored  in  the  formal  histories 
of  all  time,  or  only  emerging  now  and  then  in  some 
such  frantic  and  horrible  shape  of  blind  brutal  mad- 
ness as  the  insurrections  of  the  Jacquerie  in  France 
and  of  the  peasantry  in  Germany ;  ignorant,  helpless 
struggles  of  instinct,  stimulated  by  unendurable  and 
nameless  oppressions,  bloodily  beaten  down  again  by 
the  mailed  barons  and  knights  into  the  utter  darkness 
and  misery  of  their  serfdom.  Among  these  forgotten 
and  wretched  masses,  Thierry  found  the  real  nations 
of  the  time  ;  here  he  found  heroism  and  virtue  equal 
and  superior  to  that  of  titled  lord  and  gay  lady ;  and 
these  humble  and  often  unarmed  men  he  lifted  to  the 
high  place  which  was  theirs  of  right.  Thus  he  revo- 
lutionized the  method  of  historical  writing  ;  and  with 
a  free  and  strong  hand  made  a  place  for  the  national- 
ities now  recognized  as  the  truest  and  most  real ;  the 


102  SONGS   IN  THE  NIGHT. 

multitudes  of  private  citizens,  whose  daily  lives, 
whose  daily  little  comforts  or  privations,  whose  small 
wealth  or  poverty,  gain  or  loss,  haj^piness  or  sorrow, 
do  in  fact  constitute  the  life  and  movement  of  the 
nation,  to  a  degree  that  leaves  the  schemings  of  poli- 
ticians, the  temporary  eminence  of  a  ruler,  the  huge 
vain-glory  of  a  successful  soldier,  alike  contemptible 
and  ridiculous. 

In  the  same  direction  Thierry  has  been  laboring 
Btedfastly  and  rapidly  ever  since.  From  the  year 
1827  he  has  dictated  to  an  amanuensis;  and  under 
his  terrible  dejirivation  has  made  large  and  valu- 
able contributions  to  history.  Still  working,  he 
gradually  lost  the  use  of  all  his  limbs  except  his 
thumbs  and  forefingers ;  then  the  lower  part  of 
his  body  became  paralyzed  too;  and  still  he  la- 
bored, removing  from  Paris,  to  dwell  in  the  pleas- 
ant valley  of  Montmorenci,  or  in  the  house  of  his 
brother,  also  a  historian,  and  man  of  letters.  How  he 
endured  his  infirmity,  an  extract  from  his  correspond- 
ence may  tell.  lie  says  : — "  Were  I  to  begin  my  life 
over  again  I  would  choose  the  road  that  has  con- 
ducted me  to  where  I  now  am.  Blind  and  afflicted, 
without  hope  and  without  leisure,  I  can  safel}-  ofier 
this  testimony,  the  sincerity  of  which,  coming  as  it 
does,  from  a  man  in  my  condition,  cannot  be  called 
in  question.  There  is  something  in  this  world  worth 
more  than  pleasure,  more  than  fortune,  more  than 
Ileal  ill  itself — I  mean  devotion  to  science."  In  spite 
of  his  nuilti]>lied  afflictions,  he  has  maintained  his 
high  rank  as  the  first  historian  of  continental  Eu- 
rope, and  his  not  less  lofty  place  as  master  of  his  spirit 
and  of  his  sorrows:  now  that  he  is  dead,  his  hi^h 


MADAME   PAEADISI.  103 

place  among  the  noblest  and  strongest  of  the  intel- 
lects of  the  world  will  not  soon  be  filled. 

More  than  one  wonaan,  under  the  pressure  of  the 
great  calamity  of  blindness,  has  displayed  a  full 
measure  of  the  patient  heroism  and  undiscouraged 
enduring  strength  so  nobly  characteristic  of  the  sex. 
Among  these  I  shall  only  delay  to  name  Madame  Yon 
Paradisi,  a  German  lady,  who  lost  her  sight  at  the 
age  of  between  two  and  three  years.  Being,  however, 
providentially  furnished  with  good  instructors,  and 
rapidly  developing  under  their  tuition  a  precocious 
and  genuine  genius  for  music,  she  pursued  both  vocal 
and  instrumental  studies  with  such  success  that  when 
only  eleven  years  old  she  sang  in  public  before  the 
great  Empress-queeu,  Maria  Theresa.  The  touching- 
ly  sweet  voice,  and  skillful,  though  artless,  execution 
of  the  child  so  won  upon  the  true  womauly  heart  of 
the  Empress  that  she  bestowed  upon  the  singer  a 
generous  pension,  which  lasted  as  long  as  the  giver 
lived.  In  after  years  Madame  Paradisi,  under  the  care 
of  her  mother,  made  the  tour  of  Europe,  giving  public 
concerts  here  and  there.  At  these  slie  often  melted 
the  audience  to  sympathetic  tears  by  her  feeling  ut- 
terance of  a  sad  song  upon  her  blindness,  composed 
for  her  by  a  brother  in  affliction,  Pfeffel,  the  blind 
poet,  and  set  to  music  by  her  musical  instructor, 
Kozeluch,  a  composer  of  note  in  those  days.  Of  his 
compositions  Madame  Paradisi  held  in  her  memory 
more  than  sixty,  note  for  note  ;  many  of  them  being 
of  the  most  intricate  character.  Besides  her  extraor- 
dinary talents  in  this  her  special  pursuit,  Madame 
Paradisi  possessed  many  of  the  most  remarkable  of 
the  powers  so  often  given  in  kindly  compensation  for 


104  SONGS   m   THE   NIGHT. 

the  loss  of  sight.  So  exquisite  was  the  sensibility  of 
her  touch  tliat  by  her  fingers  she  could  determine  the 
color  of  surfaces,  the  genuineness  of  coins,  and  the 
delineations  on  playing-cards ;  she  was  also  a  geogra- 
pher and  skillful  arithmetician.  Her  sweet  and  happy 
disposition,  her  brilliant  intellect,  her  ready  wit  and 
humor  made  her  a  centre  of  attraction  in  every  circle. 
Caj^able  of  sustaining  her  sorrows  in  solitude,  it  was 
not  even  to  be  realized  from  her  demeanor  in  society, 
that  she  was  in  aught  debarred  from  using  any  of  the 
faculties  of  her  kind.  Instead  of  being  a  gloomy 
monument,  radiating  the  doleful  influences  of  hope- 
less grief,  she  was  one  of  the  brightest  and  most 
radiantly  light-giving  spirits  of  her  time  ;  as  if  the 
closing  of  the  outward  avenues  of  light  had  con- 
duced to  the  development  of  a  brighter,  purer,  and 
quite  perennial  fountain  of  far  better  light  within — 
the  light  of  a  courageous,  self-sustaining  and  ira- 
pregnably  joyful  spirit. 

Xor  has  our  own  country  been  destitute  of  those, 
who  encompassed  by  the"  ever  during  dark,"  or  walk- 
ing in  the  uncertain  twilight,  have  yet  taught  us 
jDrecious  lessons  of  faithful  toil,  and  heroic  effort. 

A  student  in  Rutgers  College,  after  a  gradual  de- 
cline of  sight,  at  length  lost  it  altogether.  lie  was 
poor,  without  friends,  and  with  two  orphan  sisters 
dependent  uj^on  him,  and  his  education  not  yet  com- 
pleted. To  a  less  brave  and  hardy  nature,  the  fear- 
ful condition  in  which  he  stood,  would  have  been 
overwhelming.  But  the  congregation  of  troubles 
came  to  a  valiant  man  who  would  do  all  that  man 
could  do  to  meet  and  conquer  them.  lie  instructed 
his  sisters  in  the  pronunciation  of  Latin  and  Greek ; 


A  TRIUMPH   OF    RESOLTJTION".  105 

set  tliem  to  reading  his  text  books,  and  himself  to 
committing  tlieir  contents  to  memory.  The  task 
seemed  hopeless  ;  yet  what  cannot  resolution  compass  ? 
Attention,  sensibility  to  impressions,  and  retentive- 
ness  of  memory  were  quickened.  What  a  man  gains 
by  severe  labour,  he  is  apt  to  value  and  retain.  Those 
of  us  who  acquire  information  with  ease,  forget 
with  greater  ease,  and  then  console  our  indolence  by 
the  complaint  of  bad  memories.  Nelson,  for  such 
was  our  blind  friend's  name,  soon  became  the  wonder 
of  the  college.  A  dispute  arose  one  day  in  recita- 
tion between  himself  and  the  professor,  concerning 
the  construction  of  a  sentence  in  Yirgil.  The  Pro- 
fessor at  length  flatly  ruled  him  wrong ;  himself  giv- 
ing what  he  considered  the  true  rendering.  With  the 
color  mounting  to  his  temples,  and  in  an  agitated  voice, 
ISTelson  replied,  "  Your  reading  would  be  right,  sir, 
if  the  mark  were  a  comma,  but,"  turning  his  sightless 
orbs  to  the  book  he  held  in  his  hand,  "  in  my  Heyne's 
edition  it  is  a  colon."  Such  was  the  accuracy  with 
which  he  committed  his  tasks. 

His  degree  is  obtained,  and  with  swelling  hearts 
his  class-mates  go  forth  to  the  career  which  invite  to 
fortune  and  renown.  But  what  prizes  are  there  for 
him  ?  His  spirit  is  one  of 'almost  fierce  independence. 
He  will  not  crouch  and  whine  to  beg  ;  but  manfully 
seek  to  gain  bread  for  his  sisters  and  himself,  by 
teaching.  The  experiment  is  made  and  is  successful. 
His  reputation  spreads  and  scholars  flock  to  him. 
He  is  made  professor  in  his  own  alma  mater,  and  dis- 
charges its  duties  with  honor  to  the  college  and  him- 
self, and  does  more  to  elevate  the  standard  of  classical 
scholarship  in  our  seminaries  of  learning,  than  any 

5* 


106  60NG8    EN   THE   NIGirT. 

man  of  his  time.  The  strong  will  conquered  fate  in 
the  forms  of  obscurity,  poverty,  and  blindness,  and 
"Nvon  for  him  repute,  worldly  comfort,  and  scholastic 
success. 

I  am  now  to  speak  of  a  person,  who,  althongli  not 
totally  blind,  has  struggled  against  such  fearful  odds, 
60  long  and  so  successfully,  as  to  entitle  him  to  a  de- 
gree of  admiration  accorded  to  few  of  his  literary 
contempuraries.  At  the  age  of  seventeen,  while  in 
College,  a  missile,  misdirected  by  the  hand  of  a  class- 
mate, struck  him  in  the  eye,  which  caused  its  loss. 
Tlie  other  was  so  far  affected  by  sympathy  as  to  en- 
danger it.  The  service  of  the  best  oculists  were 
invoked  at  home  ;  and  then,  two  or  three  years  were 
})assed  in  Europe  in  hope  that  relief  might  be  found 
tor  the  remaining  organ,  but  in  vain.  About  the  age 
twenty,  he  returned  to  his  native  land,  having  only  a 
part  of  an  eye,  enough  to  serve  him  in  walking,  but  not 
enough  to  enable  him  to  read  or  write  s^ve  by  the  use 
of  a  machine  invented  for  the  blind.  His  father  was 
an  eminent  jurist,  and  he  himself  had  been  destined  for 
the  bar,  but  his  inlirmity  closed  his  path  to  distinction 
in  that  profession.  Bracing  himself  against  despon- 
denc}',  and  refusing  to  emplo}*  the  language  of  idle 
regret,  the  chcjap  coin  of  sloth  and  imbecility,  with 
admirable  calmness  and  a  beautiful  submission  to  his 
lot,  and  the  stern  duties  which  it  imposed,  he  sat  him 
down  to  i>repare  for  the  vocation  which  he  had  select- 
ed— historical  literature  !  Ten  years  of  quiet,  systema- 
tic study  are  spent  on  the  great  masters  of  the  art — 
their  pages  ruad,  marked,  learned,  and  inwardly 
digested.  Meanwhile,  his  (Avn  theme  is  chosen.  A 
momentous  era  in  the  world's  story,  a  reign  that  vies 


MR.  PREBCOTT.  lOT 

in  interest  in  with  any  otlier  on  record,  is  to  be  treated. 
Archives  are  to  be  searched,  masses  of  manuscripts 
— official  documents,  correspondence,  etc.,  are  to  be 
canvassed,  old  chronicles  to  be  consulted — reading 
without  end  to  be  done,  and  notes  without  end  to  be 
taken.  Calm  verdicts  upon  vexed  questions  are  to 
be  rendered  ;  character,  life,  and  manners  in  a  roman- 
tic age  are  to  be  drawn  and  colored  with  the  skill  and 
fidelity  of  the  poet ;  the  best  powers  of  statesman  and 
philosopher  are  to  be  exercised,  and  the  results  of  in- 
quiry, comparison,  and  meditation,  are  to  bo  given  to 
the  world,  in  such  a  form  that  the  hurrying  throng 
shall  pause  to  read  the  scroll.  Yast  work  for  one  who 
must  read  through  others'  eyes,  whilst  his  writing  is 
hidden  from  his  own  imperfect  vision. 

Thus  are  otlier  ten  years  spent,  when  at  the  age  of 
forty,  Mr.Prescott's  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  is  given  to 
the  public.  Need  I  attempt  to  say  how  the  work  was 
performed  ?  ,The  unparalleled  popularity  of  its  author 
among  American  historians,  and  the  judgment  of  the 
world,  which  classes  him  with  Macaulay,  is  a  sufficient 
answer.  Since  then,  we  have  received  from  his  un- 
tiring industry,  and  pen  of  marvellous  grace,  Mexico, 
Peru,  a  collection  of  reviews,  and  even  now,  the  first 
two  volumes  of  Pliihp  the  Second.  What  a  monu- 
ment are  these  eleven  volumes  to  a  man  who  as  to 
literary  labour  is  virtually  blind !  What  stories  do 
they  not  tell  of  faith  and  patience— of  the  strength 
which  copes  with  misfortune,  and  masters  it — of  the 
resolution  which  is  victorious  over  apparent  impossi- 
bilities !  What  a  clear  starry  light  shines  out  iVom 
this  brave  man's  study,  to  cheer  us  forward  on  our 
own  dark  paths  ! 


IQS  SONGS    IN    THE   NIGHT. 

May  1  be  permitted  to  go  farther,  and  to  speak  not 
only  of  the  historian,  but  of  the  friend  ?  As  I  have 
seen  Mr.  Prescott  in  the  relations  of  private  life,  at 
table,  in  the  drawing-room  or  the  library ;  as  I  have 
lieard  his  merry  laugh  and  pleasant  voice ;  as  I  have 
heard  him  contributing  by  his  ample  stores  of  knowl- 
edge, his  genial  humor  and  friendly  natui'e,  to  the  en- 
lirrhtcmnent  and  comfort  of  all  around  him  ;  as  I  have 
noted  tlie  undimraed  cheerfulness  and  serenity  of  his 
character,  and  the  benignity  of  his  disposition,  free 
from  all  morbid  egotism,  and  embittered  depression : 
as  I  have  marked  how  calmly  and  courageously  he 
carried  the  heavy  load  of  his  privation;  I  have 
thought  that  the  world  had  gained  much  in  the  par- 
tial eclipse  of  his  sight.  ISTot  often  is  it  that  we  are 
favored  with  such  lay  sermons — sermons  which  come 
Lome  to  om*  hearts  and  lives  with  telling  power,  when 
they  preach  to  us  in  facts,  and  are  quickened  by  the 
vital  throb  of  reality.  From  association  with  him,  I 
have  always  gone  forth  a  more  contented,  cheerful 
man. 

Of  a  townsman  of  Mr.  Prescott,  am  I  now  to  speak ; 
of  a  young  man,  mighty  in  endurance,  and  withal  ad- 
mirable beyond  praise  for  what  he  has  done.  I  mean 
Francis  Parkman,  author  of  the  History  of  the 
Conspiracy  of  Pontiac.  Not  blind,  yet  unable  to 
fasten  his  gaze  nj)on  any  object,  and  tlius  disabled 
fr..in  r..(.]ni"-  ,'iii.1  writing;  the  victim  of  fearful  pains 


FRANCIS   PAEKMAN.  109 

in  eves,  head,  and  limbs,  which  for  months  together 
subjected  him  to  a  torture  well-nigh  as  searching  and 
exquisite  as  that  of  the  rack,  he  has  yet  devoted  him- 
self to  literary  pursuits.  Collecting  his  mind,  and 
composing  it  under  the  pressure  of  the  fiercest  phy- 
sical anguish,  without  halting  or  wavering  he  has  pur- 
sued his  labors. 

The  work  he  has  given  to  the  world  is  one  of  the 
most  admirable  specimens  of  historical  composition 
produced  in  our  country.  Fresh,  vigorous,  and  singu- 
larly graphic  in  style,  its  masterly  grouping  and 
picturesque  treatment  of  a  most  interesting  era  in  our 
annals  must  commend  it  to  the  warmest  approval  of 
the  literary  public  ;  and  coming  as  it  does,  from  a 
man  circumstanced  as  I  have  described,  it  seems  to 
me  one  of  the  noblest  trophies  which  valor  has 
wrung  from  sufi'ering,  Nor  satisfied  with  this,  he  has, 
still  under  the  pressure  of  affliction,  prosecuted  his 
labors,  and  is  now  engaged  upon  a  history  of  the 
French  Empire  in  America.  K  conduct  such  as  this 
does  not  glare  out  upon  the  world  like  the  struggles 
and  achievements  of  warriors,  yet  when  the  world 
comes  to  mature  age,  it  will  appreciate  these  trimnphs 
over  infirmity  and  agony,  more  than  victories  com- 
passed by  blood  and  fire. 

And  now  am  I  brought  to  the  last  and  most 
renowned  of  all  my  heroes ;  one  whose  name  has  be- 
come a  household  word  throuo;hout  the  nations  of  the 


110  SONGS   IN   THK   NIGHT. 

earth ;  whose  colossal  fame  is  only  siu'passed  by  his 
more  colossal  genius.  Born  in  Bread  street,  London, 
in  December,  1608,  he  enjoyed  throughout  early  life, 
all  the  advantacres  which  the  affection  and  taste  of 
cultivated  parents,  in  affluent  circumstances,  could 
furnish.  Provided  ^vith  the  best  masters,  he  early 
showed  an  amazing  aptitude  for  learning,  which  only 
grew  with  liis  growth.  At  the  same  time,  he  mani- 
fested a  remarkable  talent  for  versification.  Let  us 
describe  the  daily  course  of  his  youthful  life  in  his 
own  forcible  English.  Tlie  passage  is  from  the  Apo- 
logy for  Smectymnuus ;  and  is  in  answer  to  asper- 
sions upon  his  morals. 

"  Those  morning  haunts  are  where  they  should  be — 
at  home ;  not  sleeping  nor  concocting  the  siurfeits  of 
an  irregular  feast,  but  up  and  stirring  in  winter,  often 
ere  the  sound  of  any  bell  awakens  men  to  labor  or  devo- 
tion ;  in  summer,  as  oft  with  the  bird  that  first  rouses, 
or  not  much  tardier,  to  read  good  authors,  or  cause 
them  to  be  read  till  the  attention  be  weary,  or  the 
memory  liave  its  full  fraught.  Then  with  useful  and 
generous  labors,  preserving  the  body's  health  and 
hardiness,  to  render  lightsome,  clear,  and  not  lump- 
ish obedience  to  the  mind,  to  the  cause  of  religion, 
and  our  country's  liberty,  when  it  shall  require  firm 
hearts  in  sound  bodies  to  cover  tlicir  stations,  rather 
than  see  tlie  ruin  of  our  Protestantism,  and  the  en- 
forcement of  a  slavish  life." 


JOHN   MILTON.  HI 

It  was  with  a  noble  appreciation  of  tlie  ideal  of 
literary  aims,  and  with  a  wise  choice  of  authors,  that 
he  read.  He  preferred,  he  says,  "above  them 
all,  the  two  famous  renowners  of  Beatrice  and 
Laura,  who  never  write,  but  to  the  honor  of 
those  to  whom  they  devote  their  verse,  displaying 
sublime  and  pure  thoughts  without  transgression. 
And  long  it  was  not  after,  when  I  was  confirmed  in 
this  opinion,  that  he  who  would  not  be  frustrate  of  his 
hope  to  write  well  hereafter,  in  things  laudable,  ought 
himself  to  he  a  tmoe  poem  ^  that  is  a  composition  and 
pattern  of  the  best  and  honorablest  things ;  not  pre- 
suming to  sing  high  praises  of  heroic  men,  or  famous 
cities,  unless  that  he  gave  himself  experience  and 
practice  of  all  that  is  praiseworthy." 

And  again :  "  That  I  may  tell  ye  whither  my  young- 
er feet  wandered,  I  betook  me  among  those  lofty  fables 
and  romances  which  recount  in  solemn  cantos,  the 
deeds  of  knighthood,  founded  by  our  victorious 
kings,  and  from  hence  had  in  renown  over  all  Christ- 
endom. *  *  *  From  the  laureate  fraternity 
of  poets,  riper  years,  and  the  careless  round  of 
studying  and  reading,  led  me  to  the  shady  spaces  of 
philosophy,  but  chiefly  to  the  divine  volumes  of  Plato 
and  his  equal,  Xenophon ;  where,  if  I  should  tell  ye 
what  I  learned  of  chastity  and  love — I  mean  that 
vhich  is  truly  so,  whose  charming-cup  is  only  virtue, 
^liich  she  bears  in  her  hand  to  those  that  are  worthy  ; 


112  SONGS   IN  THE  NIGHT. 

the  rest  are  cheated  with  a  thick  intoxicating  potion 
which  a  certain  sorcerer,  the  abuser  of  love's  name, 
carries  about — and  how  the  first  and  chiefest  of  love 
begins  and  ends  in  the  soul,  producing  those  happy 
twins  of  her  divine  generation,  knowledge  and  virtue. 
With  such  abstracted  sublimities  as  these,  it  might  be 
worth  your  listening,  readers,  as  I  may  one  day  hope 
to  have  ye  in  a  still  time,  where  there  shall  be  no 
chiding." 

Pursuing  his  studies  at  the  university  of  Cambridge, 
he  took  his  degree  at  the  age  of  three  and  twenty ;  when 
he  gave  up  all  thoughts  of  entering  the  profession  to 
which  he  had  been  destined  by  his  father  ;  his  dislike 
of  subscription,  and  oaths,  which  in  his  opinion, 
required  what  he  called  an  "  accommodating  con- 
science," preventing  his  taking  orders.  His  inability 
to  do  so  gave  him  pain,  for  his  father  had  fondly  cher- 
ished the  expectation  of  seeing  his  son  a  distinguished 
churchman.  Obedience  to  his  own  conscience,  how- 
ever, fortunately  produced  no  estrangement  between 
his  father  and  himself.  He  now  retired  to  the  family 
estate  in  the  country,  where  he  spent  five  years  in 
quaffing  still  deeper  draughts  from  the  fountains  of 
learning,  and  prepariiig  himself  by  intimate  and 
prolonged  communion  with  the  great  minds  of 
antiquity  for  the  sublime  career  he  was  yet  to 
run. 

When  about  thirty  years  of  age,  the  society  of  the 


HIS   EAKLY    STUDIES.  113 

continent  threw  wide  its  inviting  portals  to  liim. 
Everywhere  through  southern  France  and  Italy,  he 
was  received  with  eager  respect  and  cordial  hospital- 
ity, and  entertained  by  the  patrons  of  learning  and  the 
choicest  scholars,  as  an  honored  guest.  Rarely  had  a 
private  English  gentleman  received  so  much  flattering 
attention  as  was  now  accorded  to  the  author  of  "  Co- 
mus,"  although  he  visited  Galileo  in  the  inquisitorial 
dungeons,  and  never  withheld  his  own  tongue  from 
the  utterance  of  his  religious  opinions.  The  wonders  of 
art,  which  had  made  Italy  the  glory  of  the  world,  were 
now  revealed  probably  to  the  first  Englishman  whose 
critical  judgment  and  answering  genius  enabled  him 
fully  to  appreciate  them.  Architecture,  paintings 
sculpture,  music,  contributed  their  choicest  stores  to 
enrich  a  nature  so  magnificently  endowed,  and  already 
60  highly  cultivated.  It  had  been  his  intention  to 
continue  his  journey  to  Greece,  the  earlier  home  of 
the  arts ;  but  his  tour  was  abruptly  terminated,  for 
his  patriotic  ear  now  caught  the  first  mutterings  of 
the  storm  which  was  gathering  to  break  upon  his 
beloved  native  land.  At  the  crisis  of  the  revolution, 
England  needed  every  faithful  son  at  home.  Thither, 
therefore,  he  hastened,  to  do  what  in  him  lay,  in  the 
coming  battle  for  human  rights.  Humble  enough  was 
the  weapon  at  first  placed  within  his  grasp — neither 
the  sword  of  a  captain,  nor  the  pike  of  an  invincible 
— only  a  pedagogue's  switch.     But  he  that  is  faithful 


114  BONGS    IN   THE   NIGHT. 

in  the  least,  shall  he  not  be  counted  worthy  of  the 
greatest  ?  So  John  Milton  used  the  birch  with  a  zeal 
rarely  surpassed  by  a  schoolmaster,  as  the  l^acks  of 
his  scholars  testified,  and  did  what  he  could  to  ground 
them  well  in  the  knowledge  of  the  classics. 

Later,  Providence  summoned  him  to  the  use  of 
another  instrument,  in  the  wielding  of  which  he  was 
already  well  versed.  The  hosts  of  England  were  ar- 
rayed in  unbrotherly  battle  against  each  other.  Cav- 
aliers and  Roundheads  were  joined  in  the  fearful 
shock,  and  from  the  din  and  cloud  strode  forth  the 
gigantic  figure  of  Oliver,  leading  his  Ironsides  to 
victory.  Cromwell's  sword,  like  that  of  Gideon  of 
old,  wrought  marvellous  things.  What  that  sword 
was  in  battle,  was  Milton's  pen  in  controversy ;  the 
foremost  and  most  trenchant  weapon  in  the  defence 
of  the  Revolution,  and  the  rights  of  men.  A  fear- 
ful antagonist  was  he,  answering  to  his  own  magni- 
ficent description  of  a  champion  of  the  truth.  "  Zeal," 
he  says,  in  the  most  fiery  and  vehement  prose-poetry 
in  the  English  language,  "  whose  substance  is  ethereal, 
arming  in  complete  diamond,  ascends  his  fiery  chariot 
drawn  with  two  blazing  meteors,  figured  like  beasts, 
but  of  a  higher  breed  than  any  the  zodiac  yields — 
resembling  two  of  those  four  which  Ezekiel  and  St. 
John  saw :  the  one  visaged  like  a  lion,  to  express 
power,  high  authority  and  indignation,  the  other 
of  countenance  like  a  man,  to  cast  derision  and  scorn 


HIS  CONTROVERSIAL  CAREER.         115 

upoi]  perverse  and  fraudulent  seducers  ;  with  these, 
the  invincible  warrior  Zeal,  shaking  loosely  the  slack 
reins,  drives  over  the  heads  of  scarlet  prelates,  and 
such  as  are  insolent  to  maintain  traditions,  bruising 
their  stiff  necks  under  his  flaming  wheels." 

!N"or  was  it  needful  that  he  should  defend  liberty 
from  its  open  foes  only.  On  the  triumph  of  the  Pres- 
byterians in  the  severe  contest,  they  sought  to  hamper 
and  restrict  the  liberty  of  the  press,  following  hard 
after  the  evil  example  of  despotic  king  and  hierarchic 
church.  He  now  stands  up  before  the  parliament  and 
the  world,  to  utter  his  immortal  oration,  the  grandest 
in  our  own,  perhaps  in  any  language,  in  behalf  of  the 
Liberty  of  Unlicensed  Printing.  Hear  him,  as  he 
pleads  for  the  charter  of  freedom  in  every  land  and  age. 

"I  deny  not  but  that  it  is  of  greatest  concernment 
in  the  Church  and  Commonwealth,  to  have  a  vigilant 
eye,  how  books  demean  themselves,  as  wxll  as  men  ; 
and  thereafter  to  confine  in  prison,  and  do  sharpest 
justice  on  them  as  malefactors  ;  for  books  are  not  ab- 
solutely dead  things,  but  do  contain  a  progeny  of  life 
in  them,  to  be  as  active  as  that  soul  was  whose  progeny 
they  are.  ISTay,  they  do  preserve,  as  in  a  vial,  the 
jDurest  efficac}^  and  extraction  of  that  living  intellect 
that  bred  them.  I  know  they  are  as  lively,  and  as 
vigorously  productive,  as  those  fabulous  dragon's 
teeth  ;  and  being  sown  up  and  down,  may  chance  to 
spring  up  armed  men. 


116  SONGS   IN   THE   NTGHT. 

"  And  yet  on  the  other  hand,  unless  wanness  be  used, 
as  good  almost  kill  a  man  as  kill  a  good  book.  Who 
kills  a  man,  kills  a  reasonable  creature,  God's  image  ; 
but  he  who  de^rojs  a  good  book,  kills  reason  itself ; 
kills  the  image  of  God,  as  it  were,  in  the  eye.  Many 
a  man  lives  a  burden  to  the  earth  ;  but  a  good  book 
is  the  precious  life-blood  of  a  master  spirit,  embalmed 
and  treasured  up  on  purpose  to  a  life  beyond  life.  It 
is  true  no  age  can  restore  a  life  whereof  perha]5?there 
is  no  great  loss ;  and  revolutions  of  ages  do  not  oft 
recover  the  loss  of  a  rejected  truth,  for  want  of  which 
whole  nations  fare  worse.  We  should  be  wary,  there- 
fore, what  persecution  we  raise  against  the  living 
labors  of  public  men,  how  we  spill  that  seasoned  life 
of  man,  preserved  and  stored  up  in  books;  since  we 
see  a  kind  of  homicide  may  be  thus  committed,  some- 
times a  martyrdom  ;  and  if  it  extend  to  the  whole  im- 
pression, a  kind  of  massacre,  whereof  the  execution 
ends  not  in  the  slaying  of  an  elemental  life,  but 
strikes  at  the  ethereal  and  fifth  essence,  the  breath  of 
reason  itself — slays  an  immortality  rather  than  a 
life." 

He  now,  by  the  assaults  of  foreign  hirelings,  is  sum- 
moned to  the  "  Defence  of  the  People  of  England." 
He  is  seated  in  his  little  study,  carpet  of  rushes 
beneath  his  feet,  the  walls  decorated  with  green  hang- 
ings, on  one  side  his  much  used  organ,  and  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  his  writing-table,  at  which  he  sits 


PREMONITIONS   OF   BLINDNESS.  117 

as  if  chained.  Never  did  galley-slave  ply  the  oar 
more  constantly  than  he  the  pen.  But  what  is  this  ? 
Is  daylight  fading  in  the  west,  and  twilight  creeping 
on  ?  For  the  page  is  melting  away  before  his  eyes. 
JS"ay,  for  as  he  casts  his  glance  through  the  window, 
catching  sight  of  vernal  green  and  trees,  he  beholds 
bright  masses  of  sunshine  lying  on  the  earth.  He 
lays  down  his  pen  and  betakes  him  to  the  organ  to 
refresh  himself  a  while  with  those  strains  which  seem 
to  bear  the  human  spirit  aloft  above  the  darkness  and 
storms  of  life.  As  the  last  chord  is  struck,  he  rises  like 
a  giant  refreshed  with  new  wine,  to  prosecute  his  scho- 
lastic labors.  But  the  letters  are  blurred  and  indis- 
tinct. A  misty  veil  seems  to  have  risen  betw^een  him- 
self and  the  lately  written  page.  Can  it  be  that  sight 
is  fading  ?  The  physicians  are  summoned.  They  de- 
clare upon  examination  that  the  work  must  be  given 
up.  "  But  the  work  cannot  be  given  up  ;  for  it  is  the 
defence  of  England.'*  ISTevertheless,  say  the  doctors, 
the  public  weal  must  be  surrendered  to  private  good. 
"The  price  at  which  the  world  will  buy  that  book, 
John  Milton,  is  thy  blindness."  "  Is  it  so  ?  then  must 
the  sacrifice  be  made." 

There  is  a  grand  temple,  wherein  have  been  offered 
many  oblations  and  sacrifices  for  the  good  of  man- 
kind ;  where  stalwart  men  and  fragile  women,  mailed 
warriors  and  studious  monks,watchers  in  the  dwellings 
of  woe,  and  sailors  upon  the  stormy  main,  nurses  at 


118  SONGS    IN   THE   NIGHT. 

tlie  bedside  of  pestilence  aiid  miners  for  the 
ricli  ore  of  triitli,  luive  laid  down  youth  and  ease, 
worldly  comfort  and  the  fair  speech  of  their' fel- 
lows, for  the  lasting  good  of  humanity.  In  the 
deepening  twilight,  up  the  broad  aisle,  there  walks 
calmly  and  without  ostentation,  a  man  in  the 
prime  of  life.  His  step  is  slow  and  solemn,  as 
behts  the  occasion.  He  kneels  before  the  altar,  that 
altar  upon  which  so  many  precious  gifts  had  been 
placed  before ;  while  humbly,  reverently,  he  surrenders 
for  the  good  of  his  country  and  the  world,  what  must 
have  been  almost  dearer  than  life  itself — liis  sight. 
Thus  were  those  eyes  w^hich  had  swept  the  starry  fir- 
mament and  passed  beyond  the  range  of  ordinary 
vision ;  that  had  lent  almost  the  sun's  glory  to  the 
landscape  ;  that  had  invested  nature  with  a  splendor 
and  grandeur,  to  impart  which  is  rarely  conferred 
upon  tho  sons  of  men ;  that  had  revelled  in  the  stores 
of  art,  and  searched  so  widely  and  so  wisely  through 
boundless  fields  of  knowledge ;  those  eyes  which  had 
made  him  familiar  with  Plato  and  Xenophon,  as  if 
they  had  been  his  schoolmates  ;  that  had  enabled  him 
to  interpret  the  w^ords  of  Ilomer  and  Dante  ;  that  had 
given  him  the  power  to  learn,  that  he  might  teach 
his  fellow-men ;  thus  were  those  eyes  serenely  and 
without  a  murmur  yielded  at  the  call  of  duty.  A 
nobler  sacrifice  1  hardly  know.  Let  him  tell  us  of 
tlie  privation  in  his  r>wn  words  : 


SONNETS    ON    HIS   BLINDNESS.  119 

"  Cyriac,  this  three  years'  day,  these  eyes,  though  clear 

To  outward  view,  of  blemish,  or  of  spot. 

Bereft  of  light,  their  seeing  have  forgot ; 
Nor  to  their  idle  orbs  doth  sight  appear  ' 
Of  sun,  or  moon,  or  star,  throughout  the  year ; 

Or  man,  or  woman.     Yet  I  argue  not 

Against  Heaven's  hand  or  will,  nor  bate  a  jot 
Of  heart  or  hope  ;  but  still  bear  up  and  steer 

Eight  onward.    What  supports  me,  dost  thou  ask  ? 
The  conscience,  friend,  to  have  lost  them  overpUed 

In  Liberty's  defence,  my  noble  task. 
Of  which  all  Europe  rings  from  side  to  side. 

This  thought  might  lead  me  through  the  world's  vain  mask, 
Content,  though  bhnd,  had  I  no  better  guide." 

Let  us  listen  to  a  still  loftier  strain : 

"  When  I  consider  how  my  Ufe  is  spent 

Ere  half  my  days,  in  this  dark  world  and  wide, 

And  that  one  talent  which  is  death  to  hide, 
Lodged  with  me  useless,  though  my  soul  more  bent 
To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present 

My  true  account,  lest  he  returning,  chide ; 

*  Doth  God  exact  day-labor,  light  denied  ?' 
I  fondly  ask ;  but  patience  to  prevent 

That  murmur  soon  rephes,  '  God  doth  not  need 
Either  man's  work,  or  his  own  gifts ;  who  best 

Bear  his  mild  yoke,  they  serve  him  best ;  his  state 
Is  kingly  ;  thousands  at  his  bidding  speed. 

And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  without  rest ; 
They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait.' " 

And  now,  by  slow  degrees  and  manifold  experi- 


120  SONGS    IN   THE   NIGHT. 

ences,  and  not  least  by  this  last  sad  affliction,  had  the 
soul  been  nurtured  which  was  to 

" Assert  eternal  Providence, 


And  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  men." 

In  the  evil  days  on  which  his  lot  had  now  fallen, 
for  the  Commonwealth  was  ended,  and  Charles  the 
Second  had  returned,  he  was  proscribed,  and  his  life 
in  peril.     Sunk  in  the  depths  of  poverty, 

"  With  darkness  and  with  dangers  compassed  round," 

he  sat  him  down  to  write  that  work  which  the  world- 
has  said  is  the  greatest  of  the  fruits  of  genius.  He 
sent  it  forth  to  a  ribald  generation ;  it  was  hailed 
with  jeers  and  derision.  How  could  Charles  and  his 
parasites  apprehend  the  meaning  and  the  spirit  of 
Paradise  Lost?  But  he  was  assured  that  it  would 
live ;  and  with  calm  confidence  he  committed  it  to 
the  future ;  that  future,  which  by  its  appreciation, 
reverence  and  love,  has  justified  his  lofty  trust. 

Paradise  Lost  was  followed  in  a  few  years  by  Para- 
dise Regained,  and  Samson  Agonistes ;  and  now 
nothing  is  left  to  the  great  bard  but  to  die.  He  has 
Bung  an  immortal  strain,  and  lived  a  life  worthy  of 
such  a  singer  ;  and  his  deatli  rounds  and  completes 
the  whole.  As  we  stand  by  tlic  open  grave  in  St. 
Giles's,  Crij)plegate,  with  the  small  party  of  his  con- 
temporaries who  are  here  to  pay  him  the   last  sad 


HIS    IMMORTAL    FAME.  121 

tribute  of  respect,  we  repeat  the  words  which  he  used 
of  his  own  blind  hero  ; 

'*  Samson  has  quit  him 


Like  Samson,  and  heroically  has  finished 

A  life  heroic. 

Nothing  is  here  for  tears  :  nothing  to  wail, 

Or  knock  the  breast ;  no  weakness,  no  contempt. 

Dispraise  or  blame  ;  nothing  but  well  and  fair." 

As  we  look  around  upon  the  strife  of  little  souls, 
and  mark  the  petty  prizes  for  which  they  are  contend- 
ing ;  as  we  hear  upon  all  hands  the  wails  of  discon- 
tent and  complaint,  and  feel  how  few  are  the  mighty 
and  the  noble  to  cheer  us  with  the  light  of  their 
presence  and  the  inspiration  of  their  example  and 
their  words,  we  are  strongly  tempted  to  join  in  the 
grave  reproach  of  Wordsworth's  sonnet : 

"  Milton !  thou  shouldst  be  living  at  this  hour : 

England  hath  need  of  thee ;  she  is  a  fen 

Of  stagnant  waters ; — altar,  sword  and  pen, 
Fireside,  the  heroic  wealth  of  hall  and  bower 
Have  forfeited  their  ancient  English  dower 

Of  inward  happiness.     We  are  selfish  men. 

O  raise  us  up ;  return  to  us  again, 
And  give  us  manners,  virtue,  freedom,  power. 

Thy  soul  was  like  a  star,  and  dwelt  apart ; 
Thou  hadst  a  voice  whbse  sound  was  like  the  sea ; 
Pure  as  the  naked  heaven,  majestic,  free. 

Yet  didst  thou  travel  on  life's  common  way 
In  cheerful  godliness  ;  and  yet  thy  heart 

The  lowliest  duties  on  herself  did  lay." 

6 


122  SONGS    IN   THE   NIGHT. 

Tims  liave  I  attempted  to  show  by  tliese  examples, 
liow  men  have  struggled  with  undamited  trout,  against 
the  severest  misfortune  and  privation,  making  head 
agaiust  calamity,  revealing  the  latent  resources  of  o\\v 
nature,  vindicating  the  compensations  which  God  has 
made  to  wait  upon  every  condition  of  man's  life.  Wo 
have  seen  men,  without  the  light,  achieving  eminence 
in  abstract  and  natural  science,  in  history  and  poetry, 
pei'tVn-ming  feats  which  would  be  esteemed  well- 
nigh  prodigies  even  for  those  who  possessed  their 
vision. 

There  is  one  dej^artment,  however,  w^herein  I  am 
obliged  to  record  the  inferiority  of  the  blind.  I  mean 
that  of  spoken  eloquence.  There  is  a  popular  fallacy 
that  this  is  a  profession  wherein  the  blind  may  readily 
excel ;  to  which  Mr.  Wirt's  celebrated  description 
of  the  Blind  Preacher,  in  his  letters  of  the  British 
Spy,  has  given  still  greater  currency.  I  will  not 
charge  that  distinguiished  person  with  intentional  ex- 
travagance ;  but  his  picture  is  an  exaggeration.  His 
own  mind  was  in  a  morbid  and  excited  state  ;  pro- 
foundly impressed  by  the  sabbath-like  stillness  of  the 
forest ;  the  irrassv  turf  illumined  bv  flashes  of  sunshine, 
and  speckled  by  the  twinkling  shadows  of  the  leaves  ; 
while  through  the  trees  appears  the  modest  country 
church.  Brooding  over  a  youth  mis-spent,  haunted 
by  the  phantoms  of  remorse  and  despair,  he  crosses 
the  tlireshold  of  the  house  of  God,  to  hear  if  any  word 


BLINDNESS    AN    IMPEDIMENT   TO    ORATORY.  123 

can  be  spoken  that  will  dispel  his  gloom.  An  aged 
man  stands  in  the  desk.  Silvery  locks  fall  down  his 
shoulders.  Ilis  voice  is  tremulous  from  age.  His 
manner  of  simple  fervor  betokens  the  deepest  ear- 
nestness. As  the  hearer  looks  more  narrowly,  he  per- 
ceives that  the  sj^eaker  is  blind.  His  own  condition, 
the  scene,  the  sightless  apostle  of  the  truth,  all  com- 
bine to  arouse  him  to  a  pitch  of  enthusiasm ;  and  he 
pronounces  Waddell  the  most  eloquent  of  merf. 

That  Mr.  Wirt  on  this  occasion  may  have  found  him 
80,  I  do  not  question.  But  that  the  audience  under 
ordinary  conditions  would  have  been  affected  to  the 
same  or  to  an  approaching  degree,  I  cannot  believe. 
Excel  as  the  blind  may  in  literature,  the  magic  wand 
of  the  great  orator  cannot  be  given  to  them.  Shall  I 
demonstrate  my  position  ?  When  you  are  engaged  in 
conversation,  is  it  not  requisite,  in  order  to  the  fullest 
interest  and  animation,  that  you  have  the  tribute  of 
your  companion's  eye?  Is  it  possible  for  you  to  sus- 
tain a  prolonged  and  exciting  conversation,  in  a  dark 
room  ?  Can  you  make  a  friend  or  intimate  of  any 
person,  who  when  you  speak  to  him  averts  his  glance  ? 
•]^o,  is  the  unmistakable  answer  to  this  question. 
Why  ?  You  come  to  your  deepest  acquaintance  with 
others'  sensibilities,  w'hereby  your  own  are  kindled, 
through  their  eyes  and  your  own.  The  sweetest  and 
mightiest  tie  which  binds  us  to  each  other — sym 
pathy — whose  glow  kindles  our  enthusiasm,  whose 


lOjj.  SONGS    IN   THE   NIGHT. 

magic  power  enables  us  to  transfer  om*  life  into  an- 
other's life,  to  pervade  our  own  imagination  wiili 
another's  being,  reveals  itseh'  not  through  the  poor 
ministry  of  words,  but  in  the  divine  expression  of  the 
human  face,  which  concentrates  and  glorifies  itself 
in  the  electric  flashing  of  the  eyes.  These  orbs  are 
the  mirrors  of  the  soul ;  the  lights  which  kindle  the 
fires  of  friendship  and  aflection. 

Again ;  you  are  a  public  speaker.  Suppose  you 
are  called  upon  to  address  an  audience  from  behind  a 
screen  ;  or  with  your  face  turned  to  the  wall ;  or 
with  a  bandage  across  your  eyes.  Would  your  words 
have  power,  or  your  nature  inspiration  ?  Picture 
Demosthenes,  or  Clay,  addressing  an  audience,  they 
hanging  breathless  on  his  lips,  when  suddenly  the 
lights  go  out.  No  poise  of  character,  no  self-possession, 
no  absorption  of  the  speaker  in  his  theme  is  equal  to 
such  a  crisis.  Xo  spell  of  eloquence  is  mighty  enough 
to  hold  an  audience  together  under  such  circum- 
stances. There  can  be  neither  speaking  nor  hearing 
in  the  dark. 

What  is  the  secret  of  the  richest,  greatest  elo- 
quence? Neither  in  finish  of  style,  nor  in  force  of* 
logic,  nor  affluence  of  diction,  nor  grace  of  manner, 
nor  pom])  of  imagination,  nor  in  all  of  these  com- 
bined, is  it  to  be  found.  It  may  be  accompanied  by 
these — it  may  be  destitute  of  them.  It  is  in  the  man 
— feeling  his  theme,  feeling  his  audience,  and  making 


STMPATITT    NECF.SSART    TO    THE    SPEAKER.  125 

them  feel  the  theme  and  himself.  lie  pursues  tlie 
line  of  his  thought ;  a  sentence  is  dropped  which  falls 
like  a  kindling  spark  into  the  breast  of  some  one  pres- 
ent. The  light  of  that  spark  shoots  up  to  his  eyes, 
and  sends  an  answer  to  the  speaker.  Tlie  telegraphic 
signal  is  felt,  and  the  speaker  is  instantly  tenfold  the 
stronger  ;  he  believes  what  he  is  saying  more  deeply 
than  before,  when  a  second  sentence  creates  a  response 
in  another  part  of  the  house.  As  he  proceeds,  the 
listless  are  arrested,  the  lethargic  are  startled  into 
attention,  tokens  of  sympathy  and  emotion  flash  out 
upon  him  from  every  portion  of  the  audience.  That 
audience  has  lent  to  him  its  strength.  It  is  the  same 
double  action  which  characterizes  every  movement 
of  the  universe  ;  action  and  re-action  ;  the  speaker 
giving  the  best  that  is  in  him  to  his  hearers,  they 
lending  the  divinest  portion  of  themselves  to  him. 
This  tidal  movement  of  sympathy,  this  magnetic  ac- 
tion, awakening  and  answering  in  the  eyes  of  speaker 
and  hearer,  by  which  he  is  filled  with  their  life,  and 
they  pervaded  by  his  thought,  is  to  me  the  secret 
and  the  condition  of  real  eloquence  ;  and  clearly 
this  condition  is  one  unattainable  by  a  man  destitute 
of  sight.  His  audience  may  yield  him  their  deepest, 
holiest  sympathies ;  yet  how  can  he  be  made  aware 
of  this  ?  Between  himself  and  them  a  great  gulf  is 
fixed,  over  which  no  man  may  pass.  His  discourse  is 
a  soliloquy  spoken  to  his  own  ear.     His  imagination 


126  SONGS    IN    THE   NIGHT. 

tlie  only  gage  wliicli  he  possesses  of  tlie  appreciative- 
ness  of  his  audience.  Ilis  words  may  be  beneath 
them,  or  above  tliem ;  his  thoughts  may  be  lofty,  al- 
most divine ;  his  convictions  may  reach  to  the  very 
roots  of  his  being;  his  voice  may  be, sweet  as  thrill- 
ing music,  and  yet,  so  far  as  the  last  and  highest 
requisite  of  eloquence  is  concerned  he  might  as  well 
be  speaking  to  the  trees.  His  audience  is  not  a 
reality,  but  only  the  product  of  his  imagination.  He 
is  wholly  incompetent  to  appreciate  or  receive  any 
sympathetic  response  which  they  may  be  disposed  to 
render  him.  Such  inspiration  as  he  may  have  is  the 
influence  of  his  subject  upon  his  own  mind  and  heart. 
The  answer  of  the  human  eye,  the  mightiest  quick- 
ener  of  eloquence,  is  forever  withholden  from  him. 
Therefore,  I  have  said  that  this  sphere  of  power  and 
distinction  is  shut  up  against  him.  The  blind  may 
achieve  the  laurel  of  the  poet,  the  fame  of  the  histor- 
ian, but  his  hand  can  never  wield  the  wand  of  en- 
chantment which  is  given  to  the  great  orator. 

Cheerfully  do  I  turn  me  now  to  look  upon  some  of 
^he  compensations  which  underlie  and  bless  the  lot 
of  those  who  sit  in  darkness.  Forlorn  indeed,  and 
wretched,  does  their  state  at  first  sight  seem.  Shut 
out  from  vision  of  mountains  and  oceans,  without  a 
message  from  sun  or  star  ;  cheered  by  no  pleasant 
sight  of  corn-fields,  or  meadows  dotted  with  flocks 
and  herds  ;  unused  to  the  dreamy  twilight  of  the  deep 


THE   OTHER    SENSES    QUICKENED.  127 

forest,  or  the  silvery  gleam  of  the  brook  as  it  breaks 
into  simshiiie ;  untaught  in  any  alphabet  by  which  to 
interpret  the  craft  of  the  builder  or  the  miracles  of 
painting  or  sculpture,  the  condition  of  the  blind 
seems  dreary  and  dismal  enough — quite  enough  to 
justify  the  pathetic  recital  of  Milton : 

"  Thus  with  the  year 


Seasons  return ;  but  not  to  me  returns 

Day,  or  the  sweet  approach  of  even  or  moru, 

Or  sight  of  vernal  bloom,  or  summer's  rose, 

Or  flocks  or  herds,  or  human  face  divine. 

But  cloud  instead,  and  everduring  dark 

Surrounds  me,  from  the  cheerful  ways  of  men 

Cut  oif,  and  for  the  book  of  knowledge  fair, 

Presented  with  a  universal  blank 

Of  nature's  works,  to  me  expunged  and  rased, 

And  wisdom  at  one  entrance  quite  shut  out." 

I  have  already  had  occasion  to  hint  at  the  exquis- 
ite training  imparted  to  the  other  senses,  by  reason  of 
the  absence  of  this  princely  one ;  the  delicacy  of  the 
touch,  amounting  almost  to  the  development  of 
another  sense,  so  quick  do  the  nerves  become  in  their 
apprehension  of  forms  and  distances.  But  the  balance 
of  faculties  is  maintained  chieJiy  through  the  ear  ;  and 
upon  reflection,  is  it  not  through  this  oi'gan  that  the 
largest  contributions  to  happiness  are  made  from  with- 
out ?  Wordsworth  has  declared  the  capabilities  of 
the  ear,  in  lines  as  philosophically  accurate  in  their 
analysis,  as  their  measure  is  poetically  beautiful : 


128  SONGS    m   THE   NIGHT. 

"  Thy  functions  are  ethereal, 

As  if  within  thee  dwelt  a  glancing  mind, 
Organ  of  vision  !  and  a  spirit  aerial  * 

Informs  the  cell  of  hearing,  dark  and  blind. 
Intricate  labyrinth,  more  dread  for  thought 

To  enter,  than  oracular  cave  ; 
Strict  passage,  through  which  sighs  are  brought, 

And  whispers,  for  the  heart,  their  slave. 

*  *  *     and  warbled  air, 

Whose  piercing  sweetness  can  unloose 
The  chains  of  frenzy,  or  entice  a  smile 

Into  the  ambush  of  despair ; 
Hosannas  pealing  down  the  long  drawn  aisle. 

And  requiems  answered  by  the  pulse  that  beats 

Devoutly,  in  life's  last  retreats. 

***** 

Blest  be  the  song,  that  brightens 

The  blind  man's  gloom,  exalts  the  veteran's  mirth  ; 
Nor  scorned  the  peasant's  whistling  breath,  that  lightens 

His  duteous  toil  of  furrowing  the  green  earth. 
For  the  tired  slave  song  lifts  the  languid  oar, 

And  bids  it  aptly  fall,  with  chime 
That  beautifies  the  fairest  shore. 

And  mitigates  the  harshest  clime." 

Tlie  state  of  constant  vigilance. in  wliicli  the  blind 
man  is  required  to  keep  liis  perce])tive  faculties,  begets 
habits  of  the  acutest  and  widest  observation.  His 
acquaintance  with  the  facts  occurriiig  immediately 
in  his  own  neighborhood,  will  probably  be  more 
thorongh  and  complete  than  that  of  his  seeing  com- 
panions.    Moreover,  it  is  nocMlfiil  tlmf  that  which  he 


THE   BLIND   MAn's   NEED   IS    HIS    GAIN.  129 

discerns  and  learns  should  be  well  retained  ;  incapa- 
ble of  reference,^lie  must  needs  have,  and  the  need 
begets,  and  ample  and  retentive  memory.  Others 
acquire  the  treasures  of  knowledge  with  ease,  and 
scatter  them  with  prodigality.  He  acquires  with 
toil,  and  thriftily  hoards  his  possessions.  It  is  not 
because  nature  has  endowed  him  with  a  better 
memory  than  other  men,  but  because  necessity  is 
urging  him  to  acquire  it,  that  he  possesses,  in  such 
high  condition,  this  much-coveted  perfection  of  de- 
velopment. Forgetfulness  is  the  offspring  of  inat- 
tention and  sloth  ;  vivid  recollection  is  the  product  of 
the  natural  faculty,  carefully  disciplined.  A  man 
rarely  works  when  he  can  help  it.  A  taskmaster  of 
some  sort  is  usually  required  to  urge  him  to  his  duty. 
Herein  the  blind  man's  need  is  the  blind  man's  gain. 
He  pays  the  price  in  effort ;  and  receives  the  reward 
in  improvement.  But  I  need  not  prosecute  this  in- 
quiry further  into  the  realm  of  his  intellectual  nature. 
All  his  richest  gains  there  would  be  as  dross,  were 
there  nothing  better  given  to  cheer  and  comfort  him. 
The  dearest  compensation  awarded  to  the  blind,  as  I 
reckon  it,  is  the  love  which  attends  his  steps.  I  am 
told  that  this  is  a  cold,  hard  world  ;  that  man  is  the 
devil's  child ;  that  the  child's  works  are  worthy  the 
offspring  of  the  father.  I  am  assured  that  selfishness 
is  the  ruling  law  of  life ;  that  friendship  is  a  name, 
and  love  a  deceit. 

6* 


130  SONGS    DT   THE   NIGHT. 

So  liave  I  not  found  the  world  or  man.  "Will 
you  accept  my  testimony  on  this  point?  It  has 
fallen  to  my  lot  to  travel  as  widely  in  this  countiy 
as  perhaps  any  man  of  mj  age.  My  wayfarings 
have  taken  me  to  the  boundless  prairies  of  the 
"West,  to  the  cotton  plantations  of  the  South,  the  farms 
of  the  Middle  States,  and  the  manufacturing  tow^ns  of 
New  England.  My  path  has  run  by  the  margin  of 
the  Atlantic,  on  the  shores  of  the  great  lakes,  by  the 
banks  of  the  Mississippi,  and  along  the  verge  of  the 
Gulf.  I  have  travelled  by  every  means  of  convey- 
ance, on  foot  and  on  horseback,  in  canal  boats  and  in 
stages,  on  rail  cars  and  steamboats.  Almost  all  my 
journeys  have  been  prosecuted  alone.  My  compara- 
tively helpless  condition  has  often  thrown  me  upon  the 
care  of  strangers.  I  have  been  obliged  to  appeal  for 
assistance  to  gentlemen  and  loafers ;  to  the  negro 
slave  or  hi&  master :  to  railroad  conductors  and  to 
hotel  landlords  ;  to  waiters  and  hack-drivers  ;  to  men 
represented  as  the  coarsest  and  harshest  of  their  kind. 
At  times  I  have  had  no  choice  but  to  address  men 
when  in  a  towering  passion,  when  their  mouths 
were  filled  with  oaths  and  blasphemy ;  and  I  have  to 
say  that  never  have  I  spuken  to  a  fellow  man — 
but  once — saying  that  I  could  not  see,  and  asking 
him  to  do  the  thing  I  needed,  and  been  turned  empty 
away. 

At  this  spell  of  the  feeble,  the  hardest  fibres  of 


THE    BLIND    MAN    IS    AN    OPTIMIST.  131 

man's  nature  dissolve  to  the  tenderness  of  a  woman's, 
and  the  gentleness  of  a  mother  takes  ttie  place  of  re- 
volting coarseness  and  brutality.  Such  is  the  result 
of  my  acquaintance  with  mankind;  a  result,  to  which 
I  believe  it  will  be  found  upon  examination,  nearly 
all  other  persons  partially  or  totally  deprived  of 
sight  have  been  brought.  Paradoxical  as  it  may 
seem,  the  sightless  man  sees  the  best  side  of  human 
nature — the  blind  man  is  an  optimist.  With  all  its 
faults  and  vices,  with  all  its  sins  and  crimes,  there  is 
ever  to  be  found  lurking  in  our  nature  a  kindly  sen- 
sibility, a  genial  helpful  sympathy,  toward  those  who 
are  suffering  and  distressed  ;  and  those  deprived  of 
sight  appear  to  me  to  share  a  larger  portion  of  this 
holy  treasure  than  any  other  class  of  the  afflicted. 
Though  the  natural  »sun  be  blotted  from  their  vision, 
human  affection  by  its  ministering  care  well-nigh 
replaces  it.  Though  the  universe  of  visual  beauty 
be  a  blank,  soft. voices  and  kind  hands  create  another, 
perhaps  a  lovelier  world :  for  those  who  are  thrown 
by  calamity  into  the  arms  of  Providence,  Provi- 
dence assures  protection,  and  appoints  angels  whose 
changeless  and  gladdening  office  is  to  smooth  their 
way  and  stay  their  steps,  and  yield  guardianship  and 
succor.  The  heavy  laden  are  dear  to  God ;  and  man 
has  not  so  utterly  lost  God's  image  as  not  to  be  kind 
to  those  whom  the  Father  loveth. 

l^or  are  there  any  so  bereaved  and  desolate  but  that 
they  are  as  it  were  hedged  about  with  blessings.     ]^o 


132  SONGS    IN    THE   NIGHT. 

lot  of  human  life  is  so  hard  and  burdened  that  sure  mer- 
cies are  not  pjpmised — that  constant  benedictions  will 
not  descend  upon  it.  I  know  that  the  years  bring  to 
us  pain  and  sorrow  ;  that  no  man's  experience  is  com- 
plete except  anguish  have  done  its  work  upon  him ; 
I  know  tliat  there  come  times  in  the  life  of  every  one 
of  us,  when  God  seems  to  have  deserted  us,  and  hope 
is  dead.  The  night  season  forms  a  fearful  period  in  the 
life  of  all ;  and  then  the  heart  of  cheer  seems  a  mock- 
ery, and  the  voice  of  music  a  cruel  jest.  But  it  is  not 
so  ;  believe  me,  it  is  not  so.  Patience,  content  and 
hope  are  the  lessons  then  set  us  to  learn  ;  and  to  him 
that  learneth,  God  giveth  songs  in  the  night.  With 
that  man  it  is  well ;  for  this  is  wisdom,  the  price  of 
which  is  above  rubies. 

I  cannot  better  conclude  than  by  a  noble  poem,  the 
work  of  a  gifted  countrywoman  of  our  own,  and  yet 
attributed  by  many  in  this  coimtry  and  in  England, 
to  the  great  singer  himself.  The  lines  were  composed 
by  Elizabeth  Lloyd,  a  lady  of  Philadelphia  ;  and  are 
supposed  to  be  written  by  Milton  in  his  blindness  : 

"  I  am  old  and  blind — 

Men  point  to  me  as  smitten  by  God's  frown — 
Afflicted  and  deserted  q£  my  kind ; 
Yet  I  am  not  cast  down. 

"  I  am  weak,  yet  strong  ; 

I  murmur  not  that  I  no  longer  see  ; 
Poor,  old,  and  helpless,  I  the  more  belong, 
Father  supreme,  to  thee. 


*'l   AM    OLD    AND    BLIND."  133 

"  Oh,  merciful  One  !  % 

When  men  are  furthest,  then  thou  art  most  near  ; 
When  friends  pass  by,  my  weakness  shun, — 
Thy  chariot  I  hear. 

"  Thy  glorious  face 

Is  leaning  towards  me,  and  its  holy  light 
Shines  in  upon  my  lonely  dwelling-place, 
And  there  is  no  more  night. 

"  On  my  bended  knee 

I  recognize  thy  purpose  clearly  shown  : 
My  vision  thou  hast  dimmed,  that  I  may  see 
Thyself,  thyself  alone. 

"  I  have  nought  to  fear — 

This  darkness  is  the  shadow  of  thy  wing. 
Beneath  it  I  am  almost  sacred ;  here 
Can  come  no  evil  thing. 

"  Oh,  I  seem  to  stand 

Trembling,  where  foot  of  mortal  ne'er  hath  been, 
Wrapt  in  the  radiance  of  that  sinless  land 

Which  eye  hath  never  seen. 

"  Visions  come  and  go — 

Shapes  of  resplendent  beauty  round  me  throng  ; 
From  angel  lips  I  seem  to  hear  the  flow 
Of  soft  and  holy  song. 

"  It  is  nothing  now, 

When  Heaven  is  opening  on  my  sightless  eyes, 
When  airs  from  Paradise  refresh  my  brow, 
That  earth  in  darkness  lies. 


134:  SONGS   m    THE   NIGHT. 

"  In  a  purer  clime  # 

My  being  fills  with  rapture  ;  waves  of  thouglit 
Roll  in  upon  my  spirit — strains  sublime, 
Break  over  me  unsought. 

"  Give  me  now  my  lyre, 

I  feel  the  stirrings  of  a  gift  divine. 
Within  my  bosom  glows  xmearthly  fire, 
Lit  by  no  skill  of  mine." 


AN  HOUR'S  TALK  ABOUT  WOMAN. 


AN  HOUR'S  TALE  ABOUT  WOMAN, 


Kevee  has  there  been  a  period  in  the  history  of  our 
country,  when  social  questions  excited  so  profound 
and  general  an  interest  as  at  the  present  hour.  The 
mind  of  the  country  seems  to  be  in  an  almost  anar- 
chical condition.  Speculatists  are  rife  ;  theories  with- 
out end  throng  the  path  of  the  intellectual  inquirer  ; 
and  the  school,  the  state,  the  family,  the  church,  are 
in  turn  questioned  as  to  the  reasons  and  justifications 
of  their  existence.  The  voice  of  denunciation  is  loud 
in  the  land  against  existing  institutions,  in  advocacy 
of  a  complete  change  and  wiser  re- organization  in  all 
the  objects  of  our  belief,  in  all  the  forms  of  our  life. 
Never  was  there  the  same  petulant  and  resentful  cru- 
sade waged  against  the  memories  of  the  past,  against 
what  are  called  in  derision  "time-honored  institu- 
tions." Not  the  least  loudly  and  warmly  discussed 
of  these  topics  is  what  has  come  to  be  styled  the 
"  woman  question."  Its  importance  will  justify  any 
amount  of  consideration,  even  the  largest ;  but  it  is 

137 


138 


questionable  if  tliat  importance  will  vindicate  the  atti- 
tude and  style  assumed  by  some  of  the  disput- 
anfs.  It  may  be  the  prejudice  of  an  "  old  fogy ;  "  but 
nevertheless,  one  shrinks  from  seeing  a  woman  expos- 
ing herself  upon  the  rostrum,  or  at  the  dinner-table, 
in  the  act  of  speech-making,  subjected  to  the  jeers 
and  hisses  of  an  idle  and  vulgar  crowd,  or  gaining 
the  equivocal  applause  of  a  rabid  and  fanatical  min- 
ority. Let  us  confess  that  it  does  violence  to  our  pre- 
judices, or  to  something  deeper  and  holier,  to  hear 
a  woman's  voice  strained  and  cracked,  in  the  attempt 
to  galvanize  an  audience  into  the  acceptance  of  her 
formulas,  or  into  an  enthusiasm  of  sympathy. 

That  women  have  their  rights,  and,  what  is  unfor- 
tunately true,  their  wrongs,  great,  deep,  and  terrible, 
no  fair  minded  man  can  question.  Possibly  it  may 
be  a  matter  of  taste,  possibly  a  deeper  difference,  which 
divides  us  from  the  feminine  agitators.  Let  us  leave 
these  imitatoi-s  of  Demosthenes,  these  matrons — or 
maidens — who  are  emulous  of  the  renown  of  Cicero, 
to  their  platforms  and  conventions,  in  -undisputed  pos- 
session of  their  ill-timed  and  unfortunate  celebrity; 
and  spend  a  little  time  quietly  and  after  our  own 
fashion,  in  considering  the  aspect  of  woman's  sphere 
and  woman's  duties. 

While  radicalism  is  vengefully  trumpeting  the 
doom  of  the  present  order  of  things,  is  with  pomp 
and    circumstance     heralding     the     new    creation, 


THEIR   VARIOUS    EXPOUNDERS.  139 

wliicli  is  to  emerge  from  tlie  debris  of  tlie  pre- 
sent, conservatism,  upon  the  other  hand,  is  apt  to 
gratiilate  itself  npon  the  Christian  tone,  temper  and 
spirit  of  onr  age  and  country,  intimating,  if  not  di- 
rectly avowing,  that  among  certain  communities  as- 
sembled in  Christian  sanctuaries,  and  associated  in 
divers  angelic  organizations,  the  law  given  by  the 
Kazarene  is  fully  recognized  and  implicitly  obeyed, 
and  that  in  virtue  of  the  savor  of  this,  the  only  genuine 
salt  of  the  earth,  the  state  of  society  is  about  as  good 
and  happy  as  the  possibilities  will  permit.  The  one 
class  of  interpreters  would  assure  ns  that  the  family, 
on  its  present  basis,  is  a  sham  ;  that  marriage  is  a  le- 
gal prostitution  ;  that  woman  is  a  slave.  The  other 
exponents  of  the  life  of  the  world  are  disposed  to  in- 
sist that  the  family  is  a  paradisiacal  state,  and  that  the 
laws,  immunities  and  circumstances  of  women  are 
admirably  adapted  to  their  situation,  needing  no  im- 
provement. "  Christian  America  "  is  a  compliment 
not  seldom  bestowed  upon  our  self-admiring  country- 
men, by  their  elegant  and  accurate  orators.  As  a 
practical  commentary  upon  the  Christianity  of  Ameri- 
ca, let  me  invite  your  attention  to  two  classes  of  our 
women — I  mean  the  poor  and  the  outcasts.  It  is  an 
inquiry  to  which  you  are  urged  by  self-interest  as  well 
as  humanity ;  for  amongst  our  rapid  mutations,  our 
sudden  changes  of  position  and  fortune,  no  man  can 
tell   how  soon  his  own  wife  and  daughters  may  be 


140 


dragged  into  the  garrets  of  the  one,  or  hurled  into  the 
hells  of  the  other. 

What  are  the  resources  available  to  a  woman  who 
is  obliged  to  get  her  own  bread  ?  To  teach,  to  stand 
behind  a  counter,  to  sew,  to  wash.  The  endowments 
and  attainments  of  a  small  class  open  to  them  the 
competition  for  the  uncertain  prizes  of  literature ;  a 
lottery,  by  the  way,  where  the  blanks  fearfully  out- 
number the  prizes.  Sad  enough  is  the  state  of  any 
one  who  must  wi-ite  for  bread ;  pitiable  to  the  last 
degree,  as  it  seems  to  me,  is  the  condition  of  a  woman 
forced  to  this  extremity  ;  but  what  shall  I  say  of  the 
other  chances  which  are  open  to  women  ?  What  is 
the  attitude  of  society  towards  them  ?  That  of  a  cham- 
pion to  defend  or  to  espouse  their  cause  ?  That  of 
a  friend  to  cheer  or  succor?  Tliat  of  an  acquain- 
tance even,  to  recognize  with  an  aj)proving  smile  and 
bow  ?  I  hazard  little  in  declaring  that  the  relation  is 
that  of  a  taskmaster  and  oppressor.  Hundreds  of 
places  of  easy  employment  and  remunerative  prolit, 
the  duties  of  which  could  be  perfectly  performed  by 
women,  are  now  usurped  by  men  ;  and  within  the 
narrow  boundaries  allotted  to  women,  hard  indeed  is 
the  work,  and  triliiug  the  compensation.  Let  a  man 
and  a  woman,  equally  versed  in  the  science  of  music, 
equally  gifted  to  instruct  in  its  art,  seek  professional 
employment  in  teaching  it.  He  will  command  a 
remuneration  of  from  one-third  to  two-thirds  more 


OLD   ESTFLUENCES    NOT   TET   REMOVED.  141 

than  she.  Tlie  -world  degrades  the  sex  into  inferior- 
ity, and  women  themselves  are  apt  to  be  the  lirst  in 
inflicting  this  indignity.  The  rule  here  stated  holds 
good  in  other  spheres  of  labor.  A  male  cook  will 
receive  from  two  to  ten  times  as  much  as  a  woman  ; 
and  a  tailor  can  live  in  comfort,  and  even  make  a  for- 
tune ;  while  a  shirt-maker  gains  scanty  subsistence, 
or  is  reduced  to  the  verge  of  starvation.  Stern  and 
angry  as  the  vengeful  jN'emesis,  appears  to  be  the  fate 
presiding  over  those  women,  who  must  gain  their 
daily  bread  by  daily  toil.  The  terrible  scenes  and 
facts  upon  which  the  eyes  of  the  world  were  first 
opened,  and  in  favor  of  which  the  world's  best  sym- 
pathies were  invoked  by  that  noble  man,  Thomas 
Hood,  have  not  yet  been  banished  or  annihilated  from 
our  centres  of  civilization  and  refinement.  There  are 
to-day  in  New  York,  and  in  other  cities  throughout  the 
land,  many  gaunt  and  haggard  forms,  worn  to  the  bone 
by  want  and  wretchedness,  who  might  with  fearful 
truth  and  propriety  recite  as  the  tale  of  their  own  life, 
the  "  Song  of  the  Shirt."  And  yet  we  are  a  most 
Christian  people,  and  live  in  a  most  Christian  age  ! 
What  a  fearful  exposition  of  the  workings  and  char- 
acteristics of  our  civilization,  is  presented  to  every 
pedestrian  upon  Broadway  after  nightfall !  Bedizened 
forms,  brazen  faces,  hoarse  or  metallic  voices,  which  in 
themselves  announce  the  sin  of  their  owners,  and  attest 
their  curse,  greet  us  at  every  step.     And  these   are 


142  AN  hour's  talk  about  woman. 

women  whose  infant  brows  were  bedewed  by  as  gentle 
tears  as  ever  fell  from  our  own  mothers'  eyes  ;  whose 
childish  ste2)s  were  watched  with  as  tender  a  solicitude  ; 
whose  way  was  consecrated  by  as  constant  and  fervent 
prayers  !  All  these  were  once  inmates  of  homes  such 
as  our  daughters  have ;  and  now  they  are  wanderers, 
with  a  brand  upon  their  brow,  more  accursed  and  with- 
ering than  Cain's.  They  have  forfeited  respect,  atfec- 
tion,  hope,  heaven.  They  are  doomed  to  the  worm 
that  dieth  not,  and  to  the  fire  that  is  not  quenched. 
'Not  only  does  their  own  conscience  thunder  the  curses 
of  the  violated  law,  and  guilt  enfold  them  in  its  dark 
robe,  but  society  declares  their  crime  unpardonable. 
For  that  sin  in  a  woman  there  is  no  remission.  For 
man,  however,  there  is  plenteous  grace  and  fullest 
absolution.  The  serpent  enters  the  bowei- ;  he  assails 
the  weakest  yet  strongest  part  of  her  nature ;  not 
openly — for  one  glance  of  her  maiden  innocence  would 
blast  him — but  with  guile.  The  language  of  love  is 
used ;  tlie  power  of  love  is  wrested  from  its  divine 
agency,  to  be  made  a  hellish  instrument.  Confidence, 
and  the  heart's  most  sacred  feelings  are  won.  Then 
comes  the  ruin  ;  and  the  God  of  this  world — our  most 
Christian  society — drives  the  woman  forth  from  Eden 
to  wander  a  fugitive  and  an  outcast,  but  receives  the 
snake  into  its  most  cherished  embrace.  The  woman 
is  condemned  to  woe,  world  without  end  ;  but  the 
man  is  accepted  as  an  ornament  of  our  best  society. 


"the  bridge  of  sighs."  143 

We  iutroduce  him  to  our  wives  and  daughters  ;  if  his 
crimes  are  spoken  of  we  significantly  hint  at  "  wild 
oats,"  or  speak  in  studied  phrase  of  "  youthful  indis- 
cretions." Mamma  suggests  that  all  young  men  are 
a  little  wild,  but  marriage  cures  them  of  that ;  and 
our  young  ladies  think  him  only  the  more  interesting 
because  he  is  esteemed  a  "  fast  young  man."  You 
knowdngly  permit  the  roue  to  embrace  your  daughter 
in  the  dance  ;  you  entrust  her  to  his  care  in  long 
^valks  and  rides  ;  you  permit  the  seducer  to  lead  your 
daughter  to  the  altar,  and  give  him  your  paternal 
blessing ;  and  at  the  same  time  soothe  yourself  into 
complacency  at  being  one  of  a  "  most  respectable 
people,"  and  a  "  most  Christian  society."  The  fair 
image  of  God  is  despoiled  and  shattered,  and  the  icon- 
oclast is  accepted  as  respectable  and  worthy. 

Oh,  the  weary  foot-falls  and  despairing  hearts  among 
the  graves  of  the  five-and-twenty  thousand  lost 
women  of  the  city  of  New-York !  Their  mournful 
dirge  has  been  sung  by  the  same  great-hearted  poet 
who  awoke  the  strains  of  the  Song  of  the  Shirt.  Le+ 
him  tell  the  fate  of  one  of  them,  for  it  is  the  story  of 
the  class : 

"Alas  for  the  rarity 
Of  Christian  charity 

Under  the  sun  ! 
Oh,  it  was  pitiful ! 
Near  a  whole  city  full, 

Home  she  had  none. 


144 


"  Sisterly,  brotherly, 
Fatherly,  motherly. 

Feelings  had  changed ; 
Love,  by  harsh  evidence 
Thrown  from  its  eminence  ; 
Ever  God's  providence 

Seeming  estranged. 

"  Where  the  lamps  quiver 
So  far  in  the  river, 
.    With  many  a  Ught 
From  window  and  casement. 
From  garret  to  basement. 
She  stood  with  amazement, 
Houseless  by  night. 

"  The  bleak  wind  of  March 

Made  her  tremble  and  shiver 
But  not  the  dark  arch, 

0  the  black  flowing  river  : 
Mad  from  life's  history, 
Glad  to  death's  mystery 

Swift  to  be  hurled — 
Anywhere,  anywhere 

Out  of  the  world ! 

"  In  she  plunged  boldly 
No  matter  how  coldly 

The  dark  river  ran, — 
Over  the  brink  of  it, 
Picture  it,  think  of  it 

Dissolute  man ! 
Lave  in  it,  drink  of  it 

Then,  if  you  can  ! 


145 


Take  her  up  tenderly, 

Lift  her  with  care, 
Fashioned  so  slenderly, 

Young,  and  so  fair ! 

"  Ere  her  limbs  frigidly 
Stiffen  too  rigidly. 

Decently — kindly — 
Smooth  and  compose  them  ; 
And  her  eyes,  close  them. 
Staring  so  bUndly ! 

"Dreadfully  staring 

Through  muddy  impurity, 
As  when  with  the  daring 
Last  look  of  despairing, 
Fixed  on  futurity. 

"  Perishing  gloomily 
Spurred  by  contumely, 
Cold  inhumanity. 
Burning  insanity. 

Into  her  rest. — 
Cross  her  hands  humbly, 
As  if  praying  dumbly 

Over  her  breast ! 

"  Owning  her  weakness, 
Her  evil  behavior. 
And  leaving  with  meekness 
Her  sins  to  her  Saviour!" 

When  tragedies  more  terrible  than  any  performed 
in  the  mimic  representations  of  the  stage,  atrocious 

7 


1^ 


in  their  inception,  haiTOwing  and  ruinous  in  their 
close,  wherein  a  human  soul  is  lost  beyond  remedy, 
are  taking  place  all  around  us,  can  we  felicitate  our- 
selves upon  the  happy  and  prosperous  state  of  our 
social  structure,  or  deny  that  there  are  grave  evils, 
demanding  our  prompt  recognition,  and  such  earnest 
and  thorough  remedial  action  as  we  may  be  able  fo 
adopt  ? 

Let  me  invite  you  to  the  consideration  of  the  fol- 
lowing proposition,  with  the  practical  application  to 
be  made  of  it.  In  proportion  as  we  recognize  more 
fully  the  truest  work  and  culture  of  human  life,  we 
shall  appreciate  the  sphere  and  influence  of  woman. 
The  wiser  man  becomes,  the  more  clearly  does  he  see 
that  his  true  strength  lies  not  in  the  physical  or  intel- 
lectual side  of  his  nature,  but  in  his  moral  and  emo- 
tional powers.  We  boast,  and  the  vaunt  seems  just,  of 
the  achievements  of  mind,  of  its  conquests  over  the  ma- 
terial creation.  The  iron  horse,  with  his  breath  of  fire, 
his  sinews  of  steel,  his  voice  of  thunder,  and  tread  as 
of  armies,  has  been  harnessed  into  our  service.  BQs 
pace  narrows  the  continents  almost  into  hand-breadths. 
His  speed  upon  the  deep  renders  ''  the  wings  of  the 
wind  "  an  antiquated  figure.  The  lightning  is  arrested 
in  its  wild  flash,  and  tamely  submits  to  carry  our 
messages.  The  subtlest  and  mightiest  forces  of  the 
universe  are  made  purveyors  to  our  necessities  and  to 
our  luxuries.     Commerce  has  belted  the  world  with  a 


TRUE   POWER   LIES    NOT    IN   THE   PHYSICAL.         147 

fairer  and  richer  zone  than  ever  clasped  the  waist  of 
Cjtherea.  Light,  heat,  electricity,  galvanism,  are 
chained  captives  to  the  wheels  of  the  conqueror,  as 
lie  sweeps  along  in  his  triumphal  procession.  As  we 
watch  this  royal  pageant,  with  swelling  hearts  and 
praiseful  voices,  we  exclaim.  How  noble,  how  divine 
a  thing  is  man  !  But  he  is  still  a  victim  of  infirmity, 
disease,  and  death.  A  grain  of  sand  may  blind  him  ; 
the  meanest  insect  may  inflict  a  fatal  wound.  He 
may  bridge  the  ocean,  but  he  cannot  purchase  im- 
munity from  pain.  He  may  count  the  stars,  and 
weigli  tbem  ;  but  ague  shrivels  and  tortures  him,  and 
fever  scathes  him  with  its  fiery  breath.  In  the  midst 
of  his  triumphs  he  is  oppressed  by  the  consciousness 
that  infinity  stretches  far  away  beyond  him,  untouched 
and  unattainable.  Even  could  he  raise  himself  im- 
measurably above  his  present  pinnacle — could  he 
master  the  forces  that  now  evade  him — could  he  mar- 
shall  the  stars  into  his  service — he  must  still  call 
destruction  his  mother,  and  the  worm  his  sister.  The 
grandest  exploits  of  the  intellect  more  display  its 
weakness  than  its  strength.  Its  richest  stores  of  know- 
ledge only  prove  to  it  its  poverty.  The  saddening 
consciousness  of  ignorance  has  ever  been  esteemed 
the  first  step  to  understanding ;  and  those  men  that 
have  travelled  the  widest  circuits  in  the  pursuit  of 
truth,  have  ended  their  journey  with  the  conviction 
of  how  little  thev  knew.     "  He  that  increaseth  know- 


148  AN  hour's  talk  about  woman. 

ledge  increasetli  sorrow  ;"  "  Much  study  is  a  weariness 
to  the  flesh."  These  sayings  were  not  new  in  the 
time  of  Solomon,  nor  are  they  old  to-day. 

I  woukl  not  undervalue  man's  mental  qualities,  or 
the  attainments  of  our  scholarship  or  science,  but 
would  simply  urge  that  his  loftiest  strength,  the 
divinest  part  of  himself,  is  not  upon  that  side  of  his 
nature.  These  are  to  be  found  in  his  capacity  to  do 
good — to  exercise  himself  in  alleviating  the  sorrows 
— in  elevating  the  condition  of  others — and  not  only 
so,  but  in  the  disposition  and  settled  purpose  thus  to 
dedicate  his  energies.  There  is  no  man  so  humble 
that  a  career  of  benevolence  is  not  noble  to  him ;  no 
attainments  too  moderate  for  even  open  usefulness  in 
this  service.  Two  mites,  the  ofl:ering  of  a  lonely  yet 
loving  heart,  commemorated  by  one  who  appreci- 
ated moral  excellence  as  infinitely  above  all  other 
power,  are  held  as  a  priceless  treasure  in  the  heart  of 
the  world,  whilst  the  magnificent  temple,  in  whose 
treasury  the  offering  was  deposited,  has  disappeared 
from  the  earth,  leaving  only  a  mournful  tale  and 
moral.  We  treasure  the  memory  of  the  one  brief  and 
simple  story  of  the  box  of  spikenard,  offered  by  a 
woman's  affection,  more  than  all  the  Eabbinical  learn- 
ing of  the  Talmud  and  Cabala — more  than  the  whole 
body  of  the  Jewish  theology.  Plutaix-h  has  trans- 
mitted to  us  the  record  of  nearly  all  that  were  illus- 
trious in  action,  celebrated  in  wisdom,  renowned  for 


THE   MORAL    GREATER   THAN    THE   INTELLECTFAL.    14:9 

eloquence  or  virtue,  among  generals,  statesmen,  phi- 
losophers and  orators  of  antiquity.  Yet  what  is  the 
value  of  all  the  classic  memories  from  the  pen  of 
Trajan's  preceptor,  as  compared  with  the  unaffected 
recital  by  publicans  and  fishermen  of  the  life  of  one 
who  seemed  to  be  a  Jewish  peasant  ?  The  emblaz- 
onry of  genius,  the  splendor  of  art,  the  fame  of  wis- 
dom and  of  arms  fade  like  the  stars  at  dawn,  at  the 
humble  narrative  of  a  life  which  was  spent  in  doing 
good.  "We  admire  Demosthenes  and  Scipio ;  with 
curious  study  we  pry  into  the  life  of  Socrates  and  .the 
writings  of  Plato ;  but  we  revere  and  love  the  friend 
of  harlots  and  sinners.  If  the  history  of  the  last 
twenty  centuries , teaches  us  anything,  it  is  that  man's 
duty  is  to  be  found  in  imitating  the  life  of  Jesus — in 
acquiring  the  mind  that  was  in  him.  He  is  the  stand- 
ard ef  character  ;  by  his  life  and  words  we  yet  judge 
of  manners  and  principles,  in  the  heart  of  the  most 
polished  civilization. 

Compare  two  of  the  men  of  the  last  century.  The 
one  was  a  Frenchman ;  graceful  in  manners,  of 
charming  address,  a  favorite  of  courts,  brilliant  in 
wit,  vivacious  in  conversation,  the  soul  of  every  gay 
circle,  possessed  of  acute  intelligence,  diligence  in 
study,  subtlety  and  discrimination  in  criticism ;  he 
was  the  prince  of  a  sect  of  philosophers  then  all  power- 
ful, now  almost  forgotten — the  Encyclopedists.  His 
life  was  passed  between  the  court  and  the  cloister;  now 


150  AN  hour's  talk  about  woman. 

amid  the  dazzling  glare  of  ro}^^!  pomp  and  pageant, 
then  immm-ed  within  a  lonely  cell,  his  only  compan- 
ions books  and  the  midnight  lamp.  He  was  flat- 
tered by  the  most  brilliant  and  fashionable  women  of 
the  time ;  his  mots  were  the  most  arrowy  and 
sparkling  of  a  period  renowned  for  witty  men.  His 
society  was  courted  by  the  great ;  his  company  was 
coveted  by  kings  ;  scholars  sought  his  opinions,  as 
the  ancient  Greeks  consulted  the  oracle  at  Delphi. 
He  was  the  idol  of  the  populace  ;  he  entered  Paris  in 
triumphal  procession.  One  might  almost  say  with- 
out hyperbole,  that  the  worlds  of  fashion,  of  letters, 
of  science,  and  of  art,  were  at  the  feet  of  this  dictator. 
And  what  w^as  the  end  ?  He  retir,ed  from  the  court 
of  Frederic  the  Great,  where  he  had  been  received 
by  that  monarch  with  almost  royal  honors,  declaring 
that  his  only  business  there  had  been  to  wash  the 
king's  dirty  linen.*  He-  dedicated  his  great  powers, 
his  unequalled  wit,  eloquence,  learning,  and  well-nigh 
matchless  style,  together  with  a  long  life,  to  what  he 
called  an  endeavor  to  free  his  country  and  the  world 
from  the  thraldom  of  superstition,  from  the  domina- 
tion of  despotism — to  what' really  was  wicked  though 
unconscious  partnership  with  the  Grand  Mo7iarque^ 
which  gave  to  his  country  the  French  Revolution,  and 
to  Europe  a  war  of  Ave  and  twenty  years,  which  cost 

*  Referring  to  his  attempts  at  correcting  the  king's  poetical  and 
other  literary  compositions. 


JOHN    HOWARD   THE   PHILANTHROPIST.  151 

France  alone  more  than  one  thousand  millions  of  dol- 
lars and  three  millions  of  men. 

Such  is  Yoltaire ;  a  monument  to  teach  the  world 
what  is  an  intellect  without  a  heart. 

John  Howard  was  an  English  shop-boy,  and  in  after 
life  an  English  farmer ;  with  so  little  education  that 
he  could  neither  write  nor  speak  correctly  ;  with 
intellect  so  narrow  and  moderate  that  it  scarcely 
deserves  the  designation  of  mediocre ;  slow  and 
stammering  of  speech,  with  a  constitution  shat- 
tered by  life-long  disease,  the  victim  of  constant 
pain  and  feebleness.  One  might  almost  say  he  had 
nothing  but  a  heart  and  an  iron  will,  together  with  a 
practical  shrewdness,  the  heir-loom  of  the  commer- 
cial classes  of  England.  Kings  sought  the  friendship 
of  this  man  and  had  their  overtures  declined.  Courtly 
and  noble  throngs  tried  to  pay  him  honor,  but  he 
shrank  from  their  saloons  and  their  homage ;  his  place 
was  not  with  them.  His  realm  was  the  prison  world 
of  Europe  ;  his  study  was  the  dungeon,  within  whose 
dark  and  noisome  cells  he  stooped  over  crushed  and 
dying  men,  to  see  if  he  could  not  read  in  their  glazing 
eyes  some  intimation  of  God's  image,  which  he  might 
interpret  to  their  fellows  without,  more  prosperous  and 
more  innocent,  and  thereby  bring  these  forgotten  men 
and  brethren  within  the  pale  of  human  sympathy. 
He  shunned  the  abodes  of  the  great  and  the  praise 
of    men;    but     made    the    lazar-house   his    dwell- 


152 


ing-place,  and  companioned  with  the  victims  of  the 
plague.  Wherever  men  groaned  in  a  captivity  worse 
than  death,  or  suffered  from  injustice,  calamity,  and 
pestilence,  wherever  were  shrieks  whose  piercing 
agony  drives  the  cold  blood  back  to  the  heart,  or  sights 
whose  revolting  cruelty  makes  the  heart  itself  stand 
Btill,  thither  he  came  as  a  merciful  witness,  as  a  swift 
angel.  His  office  was  the  instauration  of  modern 
philanthropy. 

Let  any  one  tell  me,  which  was  the  nobler  man 
which  the  grander  life  ?  What  duty  of  gratitude  does 
the  world  owe  the  gifted  Frenchman?  What  age 
shall  forget  the  unlettered  Englishman,  whose  work 
was  to  find  those  who  were  sick,  naked  and  impris- 
oned, and  then  to  visit,  comfort,  and  relieve  them  ? 
To  give  a  cup  of  cold  water  to  famished  lips  in  the 
spirit  of  human  brotherhood  is  a  more  majestic  and 
glorious  act,  than  to  write  an  Encylopedia  where  the 
object  is  worldly  distinction  or  remuneration.  To 
speak  a  true  word  of  forgiveness  to  one  who  has  in- 
jured you,  is  a  sublimer  act  than  to  have  gained  the 
victory  of  Austerlitz. 

The  self-educating  power  of  a  good  life  is  worth  an 
instant's  consideration.  Whatever  the  influence  of 
our  conduct  upon  others  may  be,  its  efiect  upon  our- 
selves is  yet  greater.  The  most  fearful  result  of  false- 
hood is  its  destruction  of  the  principle  and  capacity 
of  truth  in  ourselves.     Dissimulation  deceives  no  man 


SELF-EDUCATION.  153 

SO  mucli  as  liim  who  practises  it ;  and  whatever  the 
gambler's  winnings,  he  loses  more  than  he  gains. 
Tlie  rogue  cheats  not  only  his  dupe  but  himself ;  and 
the  thief  steals  from  himself  an  infinitely  more  valu- 
able treasure  than  from  the  man  he  robs.  Upon 
the  other  hand  it  is  more  blessed  to  give  than 
to  receive.  A  kind  word,  a  generous  action,  a  self- 
forgetting  heroism  of  afi'ection,  the  devotion  of 
patience,  self-control  and  magnanimity,  shed  a  sense 
more  deep  and  precious  on  the  soul  from  which  they 
come,  than  upon  that  to  which  they  are  offered.  He 
who  argues  for  truth,  and  not  for  victory,  will  convince 
his  neighbor  of  the  right,  and  at  the  same  time  gain 
candor,  and  openness  of  mind.  He  who  deals  fairly, 
walks  humbly,  shows  mercy,  blesses  others,  but  him- 
self more.  To  spend  a  life  of  disinterestedness  and 
self-sacrificing  love  is  the  divinest  education  on  this 
earth.  "  He  that  watereth  shall  be  watered  himself ;" 
for  charity  liberalizes  the  nature  which  practises  it ; 
and  goodness  to  the  owner,  is  a  ready  treasure,  secured 
"  where  neither  moth  nor  rust  doth  corrupt,  and  where 
thieves  do  not  break  through  nor  steal."  Whatever 
hindrances  society  may  cast  in  the  way  of  our  intel- 
lectual culture,  however  it  may  interfere  with  the 
attainment  of  such  other  goals  as  we  may  have  set  for 
ourselves,  it  can  raise  no  insuperable  obstacles  between 
ourselves  and  moral  excellence.  The  stedfast  pur- 
pose, the  unconquerable  will,   generosity  of  tempo i", 


154: 


the  large  forgiving  mind,  sweetness  and  kindliness  of 
spii'it,  belong  to  no  one  condition — are  appropriated 
to  no  one  estate.  Men  of  low  degree  can  have  their 
patent  of  nobility  as  well  as,  perhaps  better  than 
those  born  in  kings'  houses.  The  serene  light  of  self- 
control,  and  the  lofty  character,  may  shine  as  brightly 
in  the  lowly  dwelling  of  the  poor  as  in  the  mansions 
of  the  rich.  The  work  of  human  life  is  benevolence ; 
the  end  of  human  culture  is  character.  As  these 
truths  are  appreciated,  and  realized  more  and  more 
fully,  by  the  widening  consciousness  of  society,  in 
that  proportion  will  society  recognize  woman's  true 
sphere  and  influence.  I  thus  declare  because  I  am 
fully  persuaded  that  to  woman  herself  it  is  given  to  be 
tirst  to  comprehend  and  interpret  the  great  truths  of 
human  life,  as  well  as  to  initiate  and  exemplify 
the  practice  thereof.  True,  hers  is  not  the  philosophic 
mind,  using  the  phrase  in  the  scholastic  sense.  She 
may  not  be  summoned  to  ascend  the  rugged  side  of 
the  mount  that  might  be  touched  and  that  burned  with 
fire ;  and  tarry  long  days  and  nights,  amid  gloomy  soli- 
tudes, enveloped  by  the  darkening  cloud,  scared  by 
the  fierce  flashes  of  the  lightning,  and  the  yet  more 
terrible  revealings  of  the  Divine  majesty ;  and  to 
bring  thence  the  mighty  words  which  are  to  govern 
the  -wl^rld  forever.  But  it  is  hers  to  treasure  those 
apparently  impracticable  commands  within  her  inmost 
heart  and  in  the  fullness  of  time  to  interpret  and  to 


HER    SPHERE.  155 

declare  them.  When  God  would  inaugurate  the  reign 
of  sympathy  and  tenderness,  his  angels  appear  to 
women.  They  receive  them  with  modest  confidence, 
and  accept  their  tidings  with  grateful  joy.  Men 
scoff  at  the  credulity  of  the  weaker  sex  and 
decline  the  heavenly  message.  Whilst  the  mouths 
of  Mary  and  Elizabeth  are  filled  with  grateful  words 
giving  glory  to  God,  their  hearts  resting  in  tranquil 
assurance  that  the  hour  of  the  world's  grace  is  come. 
Zachariah  stands  confused  and  dumb,  crippled  by  his 
own  infidelity.  Without  arguing  and  without  gain- 
saying, the  heart  of  woman  receives  the  profound  and 
sublime  truths  of  human  existence,  and  almost  with- 
out reflective  consciousness,  she  sets  herself  to  perform 
the  duties  which  they  enjoin.  Man's  more  scientific 
eye  may  discern  abstract  and  speculative  truth  more 
clearly  and  decisively  than  hers  ;  but  her  chaster  and 
purer  spirit  discerns  the  practical  and  practicable 
truths  of  human  life  with  a  clearer  comprehension 
than  man's.  Let  a  human  soul  but  once  completely 
realize  the  dignity  of  its  vocation,  feel  the  sublime 
tasks  and  spheres  to  which  it  is  called ;  will  it  not 
give  itself  to  enter  upon  them  ?  It  steps  may  falter, 
its  courage  may  waver,  its  progress  may  be  slow ; 
but  every  step  taken  shortens  the  distance  between 
it  and  its  goal ;  every  effort  made  to  gain  the  goal  is 
a  pledge  that  it  shall  be  reached  at  length.  Human 
progress  is  a  slow  and  toilsome  journey.     The  caravan 


156        AN  HOrE's  TALK  ABOUT  WOMAN". 

of  hiimanitj  proceeds  by  short  and  painful  stages. 
Israel  spent  forty  years  in  the  desert ;  the  journey 
from  Goshen  to  Canaan  can  be  performed  in  less  than 
a  week.  At  times  it  may  seem  that  our  path  is 
retrograde  ;  but  history  is  a  barren  and  unprofitable 
study,  if  it  does  not  assure  us  that  the  march  of  man 
is  forward.  Every  generation  is  wiser  and  better 
than  its  predecessors  ;  there  may  be  fewer  demigods 
towering  like  obelisks  between  ourselves  and  heaven, 
to  catch  and  herald  the  earnest  dawn  ;  but  there  are 
fewer  obstacles  between  the  eyes  of  the  rising  masses 
and  the  glowing  East.  Woman  has  ever  been  the 
first  to  know  what  she  can  do,  and  what  her  heart 
divines  her  lips  will  speak  and  her  hands  will  show. 
Fulfilling  the  duties  of  a  lowlier  sphere,  she  is  inevi- 
tably advanced  to  a  higher.  Duty  done  not  only  in- 
creases the  strength  of  the  cliaracter,  but  purges 
the  eyes  of  the  soul.  Seeing  more  clearly,  she 
works  more  nobly;  working  more  nobly  she  sees 
more  clearly  still.  Thus,  in  twenty  centuries,  has  she 
advanced  from  the  estate  of  the  drudging  Martha  of 
Bethany,  untaught  in  literature,  unrefined  in  man- 
ners, toiling  without  possibility  of  elevation,  "  cum- 
bered with  much  serving,"  the  mere  slave  of  man's 
appetites,  or  the  toy  of  kis  caprice,  to  the  sacred  and 
venerable  standing  of  our  mothers,  to  the  beautiful 
and  beloved  relation  of  our  wives. 

In  the  early  centuries  of  our  era  our  Teuton  an- 


ANCIEKT   AlfD   MODEEN  WOMEN.  157 

cestors  purchased  their  wives  for  a  pair  of  oxen,  and 
then  presented  their  ladies  fair  with  a  horse,  a  shield 
and  a  spear.  The  chaste  mothers  of  the  barbarian 
hordes  accompanied  their  husbands  upon  their  warlike 
expeditions,  and  when  their  lords  were  recreant  in  the 
fight,  with  brandished  arms  and  threatening  cries  they 
drove  them  back  to  the  field  again,  to  win  victory  or 
find  an  honorable  grave.  If  the  fate  of  the  day  were 
adverse,  the  women  of  the  host  fell  by  their  own  hands, 
preferring  suicide  to  captivity  and  dishonor.  Com- 
pare the  lot  of  those  Amazon  warriors  of  the  Hercy- 
nian  forest  with  that  of  their  daughters  in  England 
and  America  to-day.  Think  of  the  weird  pro- 
phetess Yelleda,  sitting  in  her  ancient  tower  near  the 
Ehine,  inciting  the  soul  of  the  bold  Batavian  Civilis 
to  revolt  against  the  Eoman  power,  by  her  auguries 
and  oracles,  encouraging  his  followers  to  deeds  of  hero- 
ism by  sibylline  utterances  and  songs  ;  think  of  her 
in  contrast  with  our  own  Mrs.  Browning,  melting  us 
to  tenderness  by  her  plaintive  "  Cry  of  the  Children," 
or  rousing  us  to  unconquerable  resolution  by  her  high 
heroic  verse. 

But  if  you  shrink  from  the  golden  haired  daughters 
of  the  Rhine  and  Danube  as  barbarians,  weather- 
beaten,  vociferous  and  disgusting ;  cast  your  eyes  for  a 
moment  upon  the  Koman  dames,  the  stately  high- 
bred ladies  of  the  conquerors  of  the  world.  The 
commonest  type  of  their  female  character,  as  repre- 


158 


sented  by  Messalina,  Faustina,  Theodora,  is  so  infam- 
ous and  brutal  that  description  would  be  impossible. 
As  an  occasional  exception,  you  have  womanly  nature, 
fashioned  after  the  model  of  Stoical  philosophy  ;  an- 
nihilating sensibility,  seeking  apathy  as  perfection, 
and  cherishing  a  haughty  pride  as  the  only  solid  vir- 
tue. Compare  Arria,  handing  the  dagger,  reek- 
ing with  her  o^vn  heart's  blood,  to  her  husband, 
that  he  might  join  her  in  suicide,  with  the  assurance, 
by  way  of  encouraging  him,  "It  is  not  painful, 
Paetus,"  with  Florence  Nightingale  at  Scutari,  whose 
conduct  reflects  brighter  lustre  upon  the  English  name 
than  all  the  laurels  won  in  the  Crimea.  There  is  no 
more  striking  historic  evidence  of  Christianity  than  that 
furnished  by  the  change  which  it  has  wrought  in  the 
condition  of  woman.  The  distance  between  the  condi- 
tion of  the  Jewish,  Teutonic  and  Koman  women  at  the 
beginning  of  this  era,  and  that  of  the  women  of  our 
time,  is  almost  incalculable.  Along  the  path  of  eleva- 
tion and  redemption,  she  has  been  led  by  the  divine 
hand  of  Christ.  He  was  the  first  to  appreciate  her 
woes  and  wants  ;  he  was  the  first  to  ofi'er  the  remedy 
for  her  wrongs ;  his  gospel  is  the  only  philosophy 
which  recognizes  her  value,  and  which  points  out  her 
true  sphere  ;  his  spirit  is  the  only  guide  to  lead  her  to 
duty  and  to  blessedness. 

Let  us  now  attempt  a  more  specific  answer  to  the 
question,  "  What  is  woman's  sphere  ?"    I  do  not  seek  to 


woman's  capabilities  examined.  159 

pierce  the  mysteries  of  the  future ;  to  lay  bare  the 
orders  of  society  which  the  new  ages  shall  produce.  I 
have  no  wishto  amuse  you  by  speculations  upon  Utopia. 
My  desire  is  to  look  calmly  and  seriously  at  the  struc- 
ture of  our  own  society— to  discern,  if  it  may  be,  what 
are  the  fairest  theatres  and  possibilities  for  woman. 

I  say,  then,  that  they  are  literature,  society,  and 
home.  These  are  her  limits.  If  they  are  too  nar- 
row for  her  aspiring  powers,  then  must  her  genius  be 
cramped  and  fettered,  and  she  must  willingly  accept 
as  her  fate  the  derision  of  the  vulgar  and  the  just 
condemnation  of  the  best  portion  of  mankind. 

The  purpose  of  this  discussion  does  not  require 
that  I  should  enter  upon  an  analysis  of  woman's 
faculties ;  nor  is  it  necessary,  in  an  age  when  not  a 
few  of  our  grandest  works  of  genius  have  come  from 
women,  to  demonstrate  their  capacity  for  literature. 
It  is  not  their-  want  of  original  endowment  that 
women  complain  of;  but  they  urge  tliat  there  is  no 
time  to  read  books  or  to  write  them.  Is  this  apolo- 
getic reproach — set  up  both  as  an  excuse  and  a 
reflection  upon  the  trammels  by  which  they  are 
hampered— justified  by  the  facts,  when  used  by  the 
mass  of  women  in  America?  There  are  none  so 
poor  that  the  opportunities  of  education  are  not 
offered  them.  Our  scheme  of  common  and  high 
school  education  is  adapted  to  the  exigencies  of  the 
female  as  well  as  of  the  masculine  intellect.     As 


160 


large  a  proportion  of  the  girls  of  the  country  are  to 
be  found  in  school  as  of  the  boys.  As  much  money 
is  expended,  and  I  am  led  to  believe,  from  such 
information  as  I  have  been  able  to  collect,  more,  for 
their  training  and  accomplishment  than  for  those  of 
the  boys.  There  are  abundant  opportunities  for  our 
young  women  between  the  time  they  leave  school 
and  that  when  they  are  married,  to  improve  and 
cultivate  themselves  for  the  genial  pursuits  of  litera- 
tm-e ;  and  yet,  for  the  most  part,  what  are  the 
results?  Fashion  and  folly.  Can  it  be  said  with 
fairness  that  our  young  women  have  literary  culture, 
artistic  taste,  or  any  of  that  refinement  and  elevation 
of  manner,  sentiment,  and  mind,  which  their  advan- 
tages justify  us  in  demanding  of  them?  They  are 
taught  to  read,  but  who  of  them  reads  well  ?  Any 
bne  who  has  not  had  occasion  to  observe  with  spe- 
cial care  the  style  of  reading  peculiar  to  our  young 
ladies,  would  be  astounded  to  discover  how  ungrace- 
ful, stammering  and  bungling  it  is  in  the  majority  of 
cases;  and  this,  let  it  be  remembered,  after  they 
have  left  school.  J  do  not  believe  I  exaggerate 
when  I  say  that  you  can  find  half  a  dozen  or  half  a 
Bcore  of  creditable  performers  on  the  piano,  for  one 
who  can  read  properly,  and  with  the  power  of 
interpreting  her  author  to  the  listener,  among  the 
graduates  of  our  female  academies  and  seminaries. 
Hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars  are  annually  spent 


EDUCATION   CEASES   WITH   SCHOOL.  161 

in  this  coimtiy  for  the  pm-pose  of  giving  our  daugh- 
ters instruction  in  music ;  and  yet  what  does  it 
amount  to  ?  A  small  number  comparatively  master 
the  rudiments  of  the  science ;  a  smaller  number  yet 
are  so  far  cultivated  as  to  perform  with  taste  and 
feeling,  whilst  the  number  of  those  who  become 
thoroughly  imbued  with  fche  love  of  the  art  and  the 
appreciation  of  its  principles  and  powers,  is  so  small 
as  absolutely  to  astoimd  one.  After  the  lessons  of 
the  master  have  ceased,  in  many  homes  the  piano  is 
opened  only  upon  state  occasions.  The  immense 
responsibilities  and  engrossing  cares  of  flirting  banish 
the  disposition  for  music.  The  young  lady  renounces 
art  for  arts.  And  when  the  husband  is  gained,  a 
few  evenings  within  the  first  year  or  two  may  be 
enlivened  by  an  occasional  strain ;  but  the  wail  of 
the  first  infant  silences  the  strings  of  the  instrumicnt, 
and  the  piano  remains  closed  until  our  friend's 
daughter  comes  to  take  her  place  upon  the  stool. 
All  girls  of  "  genteel  families  "  are  thus  taught  music; 
but  where  are  the  musicians  ? 

In  this  country,  where  books  are  preeminently 
cheap,  and  where  they  are  to  be  found  in  every 
household  of  even  moderate  means,  no  young  woman 
of  the  middle  or  wealthier  classes  can  truly  say  that 
she  is  unable  to  form  an  acquaintance  with  the  best 
authors.  The  poets,  the  essayists,  the  best  novelists, 
are  all  within  their  reach.     But  do  they  read  them  ? 


162 


A  space  of  two  or  more  years  is  by  courtesy  supposed 
to  intervene  between  the  damsel's  leaving  school  and 
her  entrance  upon  the  duties  of  married  life';  yet 
how  much  substantial  reading  is  done  within  one  of 
those  years  ?  That  some  reading  is  done  is  evident 
for  the  immense  circulation  of  the  magazines  and  flash 
literature  plainly  declares  that  there  must  be  a 
demand  where  there  is  such  a  supply.  But  does  it 
often  enter  into  the  brains  of  the  maidens,  that  Gib- 
bon, Hume,  flobertson  ;  that  Guizot,  Bancroft,  Pres- 
cott,  Grote  and  ISTiebuhr  are  fit  reading  for  them  ? 
They  assure  you  that  history  is  flat,  stale,  unprofitable  ; 
that  for  their  part  they  can  get  enough  of  it  from  the 
Waverley  novels.  The  inspired  old  masters  of  the 
lyre  are  too  stifi*,  antiquated,  pedantic,  for  them ; 
Moore's  lyrics  are  more  to  their  taste.  They  may 
languish  in  sentimental  sympathy  or  glow  with 
ardent  passion  over  the  pages  of  the  author  of 
Manfred,  but  they  decline  an  invitation  from  the  bard 
of  Eydal  Mount,  to  bear  him  company  to  the  cool  grot- 
toes, the  calm  majestic  scenes  of  ]S"ature.  Milton  and 
Gray  they  parsed  at  school,  and  the  acquaintance  thus 
acquired  serves  them  for  the  remainder  of  their  life. 
Shakspeare — except  in  Bowdler's  edition — is  a  book 
not  fit  to  be  in  any  lady's  library.  So  our  young  ladies 
dawdle  about  the  house  until  it  is  time  to  receive 
company  or  to  pay  visits ;  after  which  they  spin 
street  yam  by  the  hank.     Dinner  and  a  nap  prepai*e 


FEIVOLITT    A    PREVAILING    EYIL.  163 

them  for  the  serious  occupation  of  the  evening — the 
entertainment  of  a  certain  number  of  young  gentle- 
men who  are  dignified  by  the  appellation  of 
"  beaux."  Thus  the  day  is  passed ;  and  tliose  who 
spend  it  in  this  fashion  assure  me  with  a  seriousness 
that  is  really  comical,  that  "  they  have  no  time  to 
read."  Can  it  be  denied  that  the  toilet  and  the  men 
are  the  two  influences  of  absorbing  interest  to  the 
mass  of  young  American  women  between  the  ages 
of  sixteen  and  twenty?  Time  enough  is  wasted  by 
most  of  them  before  the  looking-glass  within  five 
years,  to  bring  them  in  to  appreciative  acquaintance 
with  the  best  authors  of  ancient  and  modern  times. 
Enough  interest  and  animation  are  expended  upon 
silly  laughing  at  sillier  jests,  to  put  them  into  inti- 
mate intercourse  with  the  masters  of  the  Greek  and 
Latin  literatures.  Enough  money  is  squandered  in 
the  United  States,  within  every  ten  years,  upon  the 
musical  education  of  young  ladies  who  have  no 
musical  capacity,  to  place  a  select  and  excellent 
library  of  the  best  authors  in  nearly  every  household 
in  the  land.  Let  us  suppose  that  one  of  our  girls, 
leaving  school,  determines  to  devote  two  hours  per 
day  to  reading,  and  that  she  resolutely  perseveres  for 
a  twelvemonth.  At  the  rate  of  thirty  pages  an  hour 
— a  moderate  calculation — she  will  have  carefully 
read  at  least  Gibbon's,  Robertson's,  Prescott's,  Ban- 
croft's, and  Macaulay's  historical  works ;  or,  allow- 


164 


ing  for  the  greater  speed  with  which  light  literature 
is  read,  she  will  have  gone  through  the  Waverley 
novels  and  the  works  of  Irving  and  Cooper.  It  is  a 
moderate  computation  to  allow  ten  thousand  pages  of 
careful  reading  as  the  result  from  one  hour  a  day.  My 
young  lady  readers  can  multiply  that  amount  by  the 
number  of  hours  they  have  for  literary  pursuits  and 
ascertain  for  themselves  what  number  of  excellent  and 
valuable  books  they  can  consume  within  a  year. 

One  hour  spent  in  writing  an  abstract  for  every 
two  devoted  to  reading,  will  enable  them  to  embody  in 
an  available  foi-m  the  fruits  of  their  study,  and  at  the 
same  time  cultivate  a  habit  of  composition.  None 
can  imagine  but  those  who  have  tried  the  experiment, 
and  reaped  the  reward,  the  agility  and  grace  which 
the  pen  acquires  from  this  kind  of  practice  ;  and  this 
is  a  mode  of  training  and  accomplishment  within  the 
eftsy  reach  of  five  out  of  ten — shall  I  not  say  eight 
out  of  ten  ? — of  all  the  school-girls  in  the  United 
States,  and  those  who  are  leaving  school.  Let  us 
have  done  then  with  the  empty  apology  that  after 
their  school-days  our  young  women  have  not  time  for 
literary  cultivation. 

Another  serious  obstacle  besides  those  enumerated 
above  is  the  scrappy  style  of  reading  too  commonly 
adopted.  We  are  so  accustomed  to  paragraphs,  stories, 
and  review  articles ;  we  can  so  easily  and  cheaply 
acquire  the  material  for  superficial   conversation  in 


A   STRICT    REGARD    OF   TIME   REQUIRED.  165 

society ;  that  the  attention  wearies  and  the  interest 
flags,  in  pursuing  a  regular  course  of  reading.  Hence 
in  part  the  youthful  womanly  mind  wants  breadth, 
vigor,  solidity.  Stedfastness  of  purpose  must  be 
acquired  and  practised  here,  as  everywhere,  if  excel- 
lence be  reached.  The  continued  and  studious  pe- 
rusal of  good  writers,  will  not  only  enrich  the  memory 
and  fertilize  the  nature,  but  discipline  the  faculties  to 
a  steadiness  and  self-support  which  shall  soothe  and 
tranquilize  many  a  fevered  and  anxious  hour  in  life 
to  come.  For  want  of  such  beneficent  discipline, 
large  numbers  of  our  married  women  degenerate  into 
housekeeping  drudges  or  drones,  with  scarce  a  thought 
above  cooking  and  dusting,  fallen  into  scandalmonger- 
ing,  or  what  is  worse,  into  the  wretched  and  painful 
boarding-house  life  of  towns  and  cities,  sunk  into  in- 
trigues, wantonness,  and  destruction.  The  care, 
anxiety,  responsibility,  which  domestic  life  imposes, 
the  want  of  culture,  appreciation  and  healthful  sym- 
pathy almost  inseparable  from  the  woman's  condition 
— the  fact  that  she  must  often  walk  the  round  of  her 
duties  alone,  with  none  to  help  or  cheer  her,  demand 
a  compact  fibre  and  clear  decision,  a  resolute  strength 
of  nature.  The  radical  elements  of  these  she  pos- 
sesses as  the  gift  of  God.  Tliey  may  be  ripened  dur- 
ing her  maiden  life  by  close  communion  with  the 
spirits  of  the  great  and  good  who  have  left  the  best 
part  of  themselves  in  books.     Blessed,  indeed,  is  the 


im 


lot  of  the  woman  who  crosses  the  threshold  of  mar- 
ried life,  cherishing  in  her  heart  the  hallowed  influ- 
ences and  choicest  inspiration  of  the  sages  and  the 
poets. 

It  is  impossible  for  us  to  calculate  what  female  gen- 
ius is  competent  to  perform  in  the  world  of  letters ; 
but  from  what  it  has  already  done,  what  are  we  not 
justified  in  predicting?  It  is  safe  to  assert  that  no 
two  works  of  fiction  produced  within  the  last  twenty 
years  have  made  so  profound  an  impression  upon  the 
mind  of  the  civilized  world  as  Jane  Eyre  and  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin.  I  do  not  here  propose  the  discussion 
of  the  merits  and  defects  of  either  of  these  books,  nor, 
associating  with  them  the  product  of  female  literary 
mind  in  England  and  America  within  the  same  period, 
to  collect  the  data  for  an  inductive  argument  to  set 
forth  woman's  capabilities  for  creation  and  composi- 
tion. It  is  sufficient  for  me  to  state  what  all  know,  that 
Miss  Bronte  and  Mrs.  Stowe  have  created  a  stronger 
interest  in  their  characters,  have  more  completely 
thrilled  the  hearts  and  kindled  the  sensibilities  of  their 
readers,  than  Bulwer,  Dickens,  or  Thackeray.  What- 
ever may  be  the  defects  of  these  books,  as  tried  by  the 
cold  formulas  of  criticism,  whatever  maybe  their  weak- 
ness or  errors,  as  attempts  to  delineate  facts  and  life, 
however  perverted  and  unjust  you  may  claim  their 
statements  of  reality  to  be,  in  my  mind  there  is  no 
doubt  that  tlif'v  arc  nobler  works  of  art  than  have 


EAENESTNESS   OF  J^MALE   AUTHORS.  167 

ever  beea  produced  by  the  illustrious  trio  I  have 
mentioned  above. 

The  women  are  thoroughly  in  earnest.  They  write 
because  they  cannot  help  it.  They  use  their  pen  to 
unburden  their  hearts.  They  must  speak,  or  they 
would  die.  The  men  have  had  a  thousand  advan- 
tages which  the  w^omen  never  possessed. .  But  the 
woman's  religious  nature,  the  purpose  of  writing  to 
benefit  others, — a  purpose  of  which  she  is  only  half 
conscious  : — the  colorino-  from  the  hues  of  her  own 
heart,  the  tides  of  emotion,  inundating  the  intellect, 
lifting  the  thoughts,  bearing  them  on  as  upon  some 
brimming  mighty  current — these  yield  the  woman 
ample  compensation  for  her  deficiencies. 

Were  it  necessary  to  vindicate  the  breadth  and 
massiveness  of  female  genius,  might  I  not  point  to 
Mi-s.  Browning,  to  whom  since  the  days  of  Milton, 
there  has  been  no  superior,  if  an  equal,  in  poetic  sub- 
limity ?  JS'or  is  the  loftiness  of  her  thought  and  style 
gained  by  any  sacrifice  of  delicacy  and  tenderness. 
The  woman's  deep  and  gentle  sensibility  attempers 
what  might  otherwise  be  the  dazzling  glare  of  genius, 
and  sheds  upon  her  page  a  soft  and  holy  light.  While 
she  gives  us  in  her  chalices  wine  to  nourish  and  in- 
vigorate strong  men,  there  are  motherly  lays  and 
cadences  to  soothe  the  heart  of  her  sisters  in  distress. 
She  leads  the  poet  by  one  hand  up  the  broad  aisle 
to  the  altar  where  he  may  perform  the  act  of  self- 


168  AN  houk's  talk  about  woman. 

consecration,  and  with  the  other  she  plants  upon  the 
grave  of  a  httle  child  a  sweetly  blooming  flower,  which 
those  who  have  buried  children  will  not  willingly  let 
die.  There  are  other  English  women  who  may  not 
have  received  so  great  a  meed  of  renown  as  those 
already  mentioned,  whose  works,  nevertheless,  are 
entitled  to  the  best  applause  of  men  and  women  of 
all  degrees.  Such  are  Mrs.  Gaskell,  Miss  Yonge, 
Miss  Mulock,  and  Mrs.  Olyphant ;  whose  books 
evince  a  careful  and  thorough  culture,  a  nice  discrim- 
ination of  character,  and  a  complete  literary  excel- 
lence, sufficient  to  add  lustre  to  the  name  of  any 
author  of  the  time.  With  such  examples  challeng- 
ing our  admiration,  who  will  dare  to  disparage 
the  capacities  of  woman  for  literature. 

There  are  two  classes  of  composition  for  which  the 
nature,  experience  and  education  of  women  peculiarly 
fit  them  ;  I  mean  works  for  their  own  sex  and  for 
children.  The  value  of  these,  if  they  be  equal  to  the 
claims  of  their  subjects,  and  of  those  for  whom  they 
are  designed,  can  hardly  be  over-rated.  Tlie  domes- 
tic life  of  this  country  is  in  a  fearful — not  to  say  an 
appalling — condition.  Tlie  greedy  pursuit  of  wealth  is 
an  almost  universal  characteristic  of  the  men.  Wives 
and  mothers  are  well-nigh  as  eager  in  their  desire  for 
the  possession  of  gold  as  husbands  and  fathers. 
Early  married  life  is  devoted  to  a  daring  race  to  gain 
j   the  prizes  of  Mammon.     The  middle  life — age   of 


STJEFACISM.  169 

womanliood,  is  then  given  up  to  ostentation  and  vul- 
gar display.  Great  houses,  sumptuously  furnished  ; 
costly  equipages  and  trappings,  magnificent  sm-round- 
ings,  where  the  possessors  are  the  only  dwarfs,  seem 
to  constitute  for  the  mass  of  the  women  of  America 
a  perfect  paradise — a  paradise  in  prospect  only  ;  for 
when  the  Eden  is  gained,  the  hot  breath  of  a  simoom 
has  withered  the  verdure  and  the  flowers,  dried  up 
the  fountains,  and  slain  the  singing-birds  ;  and  thence- 
forth there  is  only  a  desert  of  pride,  show  and  extrava- 
gance. Among  the  thriving  mercantile  and  commer- 
cial classes  of  this  country,  the  statement  may  be 
ventured  without  fear  of  exaggeration,  that  there  is 
little  or  no  domestic  life. 

"V7ho  is  defrauded  by  the  mockeries  which  we  call 
homes  ?  Who  suffers  the  wrong  and  loss  ?  "Woman. 
How  shall  a  revolution  be  wrought — a  revolution  in 
which  mightier  issues  are  involved  than  in  any  change 
of  administrations  or  cabinets — a  revolution  upon 
which  depend  the  vital  interests  of  our  individual 
and  national  life  ?  Women  must  fight  this  battle  and 
win  it ;  with  their  pens,  by  their  tongues,  in  their 
lives  ;  or  the  hopes  of  our  ancestors  and  our  own 
cherished  anticipations  for  the  future  of  our  country 
must  be  bafiied  and  trodden  under  foot  of  men. 

A  thoughtful  woman  once  said  to  me,  "  My  only 
literary  ambition  is  to  be  able  to  write  a  book  suited 
to   my  children."      What  nobler  ambition    could  a 


170 


woman  have  ?  Is  it  not  a  sphere  worthy  of  an  angel's 
selectest  powers  ?  Let  us  confess,  without  any  wish 
to  be  invidious,  that  there  are  hardly  any  good  books 
fit  to  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  little  ones.  We  need 
books  that  shall  have  a  serene  and  healthful  influence 
upon  the  expanding  minds  of  our  children  ;  free  from 
morbid  excitement,  from  the  quality  of  excessive 
stimulus :  that  shall  nourish,  not  force ;  that  shall 
foster,  not  too  hotly  urge  the  already  precocious 
mind  of  childhood  in  this  country.  When  I  think 
of  the  moral  agencies  constantly  at  work  in  educa- 
tion, agencies  baptized  by  courtesy  wdth  the  name  of 
moral,  when  I  think  of  the  over  stimulation  of  the 
mental  and  moral  nature  of  our  young  people,  I  can 
but  shudder  at  the  thought  of  the  result.  The  wits 
of  infancy  are  sharpened  from  the  cradle.  Boys  and 
girls  are  shrewd  and  cunning  in  short  clothes.  Arti- 
ficiality and  self-consciousness  become  the  fearful 
dower  of  youth,  while  it  should  be  luxuriating  in 
"  the  simple  creed  of  childhood."  I  know  of  no  more 
urgent  demand  in  the  whole  field  of  literature,  than 
for  books  which  shall  suit  themselves  to  the  familiar 
necessities  of  early  life ;  that  shall  tend  to  keep  oui 
children  young  ancl  fresh,  full  of  genial  heartiness, 
faith  and  enthusiasm. 

Man  interprets  character  and  life  through  the 
intellect.  Imagination  stands  him  instead  of  aftec- 
tion.     Woman  appreciates  and  expounds  through  her 


WOMEN    THE   BEST    LITEE^EY    TNSTErCTOES.       ITl 

heart.  Sensibility  and  sympathy  may  come  to  per- 
form as  divine  and  majestic  an  office  in  conceiviDg 
a  character,  in  apprehending  it,  and  in  adapting 
supplies  to  its  necessities,  as  the  regal  power  of  imag- 
ination itself.  Who  can  understand  the  wants  and 
minister  to  the  needs  of  childhood  as  completely  and 
graciously  as  those  who  love  it  most  ?  The  mother 
that  pressed  the  infant  upon  her  breast  with  inex- 
pressible tenderness,  that  hushed  its  cries  with  gentle 
lullaby  and  care,  that  soothed  its  early  sorrows  and 
gladdened  its  happiest  hours  by  her  sympathy  and 
fondness ;  to  whose  knee  the  little  one  always  runs  for 
refuge  and  succor ;  into  whose  eye  it  looks  up  w^tli 
unfaltering  confidence  for  counsel  and  approval ;  and 
whose  own  character  has  been  ripened  and  enriched 
by  these  ceaseless  ministrations  of  solicitude  ;  must 
not  she  be  the  best  and  holiest  guide  to  lead  its 
uncertain  and  wayward  feet  into  the  paths  of  knowl- 
edge and  virtue  ?  I  am  satisfied  that  when  we  have  a 
"  Library  of  Choice  Reading  "  adapted  to  children, 
most  if  not  all  the  b*ooks  will  have  come  from  wo- 
men's pens — and  hearts. 

Here,  then,  is  the  whole  field  of  literature,  an 
ample  field,  glorious  as  any  which  God  ever 
vouchsafed  to  the  tillage  of  man,  open  to  the  patient 
hopeful  labor,  to  the  untiring  earnest  care  of  woman. 
Her  sisters  have  wrought  in  it  faithfully  and  well. 
Her  natural  endowments,  her  experience  and  position 


172  AN  houh's  talk  about  woman. 

qualify  her  pre-eminently  for  the  task.  The  contri- 
butions of  the  past  in  the  department  of  female  liter- 
ature are  only  as  the  lirst  fruits  of  the  magnificent 
harvest  which  the  future  years  sliall  garner. 

Society,  as  the  sphere  of  woman's  best  exertions,  next 
claims  our  consideration.  It  may  be  stated  with  justice 
that  the  social  life  of  this  country  is  the  reflected  image 
of  woman's  character  and  culture.  As  a  priestess, 
she  presides  at  the  shrine  ;  as  a  ruler  she  issues  the 
laws  ;  and  at  the  same  time  the  interpretation  and 
execution  of  these  laws  are  intrusted  to  her.  Holding 
her  to  this  standard  of  responsibility,  do  we  find  good 
reason  for  complacency  on  her  part  or  congratulation 
upon  our  own  ?  What  are  the  facts  which  a  candid 
inquiry  into  the  form  and  force  of  American  social 
life  reveals  to  us  ? 

In  every  community  throughout  our  country  there 
is  an  association  of  men  and  women  which  takes  the 
title  of  society  ;  and  this,  let  it  be  recollected,  is  the 
thing  which  we  are  considering.  By  far  the  majority 
of  tlie  members  of  these  circles  are  remarkable  for 
their  youth  and  inexperience ;  and,  as  our  country 
is  a  republic,  the  majority  govern.  Business  and 
professional  men,  and  officials,  are  so  absorbed 
b}^  their  pursuits  or  oppressed  by  labor,  that  they 
have  little  or  no  time  for  the  recreation  of  friendly 
intercourse ;  and  even  wlien  they  attend  a  party,  or 
enter  tlie  smaller  group  of  the  drawing-room,  they 


A   FAST   AGE.  173 

are  either  so  jaded  or  so  engrossed,  that  they  scarce 
take  any  interest  in  the  scenes  and  conversation 
transpiring  about  them. 

Manhood  therefore  finds  itself  represented  on  these 
occasions  by  those  whose  youth  disqualifies  them,  or 
whose  indolence  and  incapacity  unfit  them  for  the 
professions  or  the  mart.  ^  Sophomorical  inflation,  and 
punctilious  regard  to  the  state  of  the   hair,  mousta- 
ches and  linen,  and  almost  equally  scrupulous  disre- 
gard of  good  breeding  and^  manly  behavior,  the  affec- 
tation of  little  wickednesses  and  indulgence  in  great 
ones,  with  a  fearful  state  of  intellectual  vacuity,  may 
be  accepted  as  the   characteristics  of  these  youthful 
gallants.     Gentlemen  of  eighteen  polk   and   flirt  in 
our  ball-rooms,  talk  all  manner  of  indecency,  perform 
all  sorts  of  rudeness,  and  before  the  close  of  the  even- 
ing are  very  probably  so  tipsy  that  they  must  be  de- 
posited under  the  table  or  carried  home.     Gentlemen 
of  one-and-twenty  discourse   to  you  gravely  in  the 
intervals  of  their  pleasure-hunting,  about  the  empti- 
ness of  life  and  the  world ;  declaring   that  in  their 
private  opinion  there  is  neither  honor  among  men, 
nor  chastity  among  women.     They  aver  to  you  with 
a  solemnity  that  amounts  to  drollery  that  they  have 
seen  the  whole  of  life,  and  that   they  are  now  dis- 
gusted and  Uases.     And  yet  at  the  next  party— which 
by  the  way  they  are  as  eager  to  attend  as  the  first  one 
to  which  they  were  invited — they  will  empty  a  saucer 


174: 


of  ice-cream  iinder  the  table  upon  the  host's  Wilton 
carpet,  in  order  to  help  themselves  to  chicken  salad, 
and  will  gobble  indiscriminately  and  extensively 
enough  to  impair  the  digestion  of  an  ostrich.  Seem- 
ins:  to  realize  that  their  virtue  and  brains  reside  in 
their  heels,  they  give  them  ample  exercise  in  the  inde- 
cent motions  of  the  ''fancy  dances."  ISTow,  how- 
ever, that  these  affectionate  forms  of  pastime  between 
the  sexes  are  falling  into  disuse,  it  is  to  be  feared 
that  our  society  will  be  robbed  of  many  of  its  choic- 
est ornaments.  Ought  not  the  charitable  voice  of 
the  public  to  be  raised  in  protest  against  the  discoun- 
tenance of  these  lately  fashionable  amusements  ?  for 
what  will  become  of  the  descendants  of  the  heroes 
of  the  Kevolution,  if  they  are  not  allowed  to  dis- 
play their  only  accomplishment  ? 

The  conversation  of  society,  amid  the  excited  whirl 
of  the  ball,  or  in  the  quieter  groups  of  the  smaller 
re-unions,  consists  of  idle  gossip,  idler  tattle,  and  per- 
nicious scandal.  And  these  goodly  staples  of  dis- 
course are  garnished  with  profane  epithets  and  inter- 
jections, cant  words  and  slang  phrases,  mumbled  out 
in  a  half  inarticulate  style,  and  at  frequent  intervals 
choked  by  the  speaker's  laughing  at  his  own  smart 
things  and  queer  conceits.  This  may  be  termed  the 
general  style  of  talk.  The  special  kind  is  devoted  to 
love-making;  not  a  whit  more  elegant  and  refined,  it 
is  more  dangerous  because  more  passionate.     Neither 


woman's  responsibility.  1T5 

wife,  mother  nor  maiden,  are  sacred  in  the  eyes  of  these 
premature  debauchees.  With  an  effrontery  that  is 
only  paralleled  by  their  iniquity,  they  seek  to  flatter, 
cajole,  entice  and  ruin  women  of  every  station  in 
whose  presence  they  are  tolerated.  How  far  they  are 
successful  is  illustrated  in  part  by  the  number  of 
damaged  reputations,  separated  husbands  and  wives, 
divorce  cases,  "  elopements  in  high  life,"  disgraced 
and  abandoned  young  girls,  with  which  the  events 
of   every  year  make    us   acquainted   in  "  our    best 

society." 

Who  are  chargeable  with  the  toleration  and  coun- 
tenance of  these  juvenile  dandies,  rakes  and  block- 
heads ;  with  their  admission  and  continuance  in  the 
spheres  of  social  life  ?     I  answer,  the  women.     Tliey 
knowingly  receive  a   man  with  such  attributes,  per- 
forming such  acts,  and  who  should  be  branded  with 
everlasting  contempt,  into  their  houses  and  at  their 
parties  ;  they  allow  their  attentions  to  themselves  and 
their  daughters  ;  and  when  they  are  spoken  to  on  this 
subject  they  blandly  reply  that  "  all  young  men  do 
such   things."     The    strictly  fashionable  society   of 
several  of  the  principal  cities  of  this  country  is  fast 
becoming  as  corrupt  and  depraved  as  a  member  of 
the  Parisian  or  Viennese  heme  monde  could  desire. 
And  this  is  the  goal  of  respectability,  to  which  our 
countrymen    and    countrywomen  are    urging  their 
impatient  and  zealous  way  !     Tliese  are  the  associa- 


1T6 


tions  and  friendsliips  which  we  are  coveting  for  our 
sons  and  daughters! 

Among  the  middling  classes,  the  case  is  not  quite 
so  hopeless  ;  but  it  is  bad  enough. 

A  brief  but  impartial  inquiry  into  the  status  of 
these  classes  in  this  country  may  justly  claim  our  at- 
tention. It  is  unquestionably  true  that  among  them 
we  shall  find  more  scrupulous  regard  to  the  proprie- 
ties and  decencies  of  life,  a  stronger  emphasis  upon 
an  unsullied  reputation,  and  character  holden  to  a 
stricter  accountability.  It  is  likewise  true  that  among 
them  is  to  be  found  the  greater  portion  of  that 
philanthropic  zeal  and  benevolent  activity,  which 
embody  themselves  in  the  great  organizations  and 
smaller  societies  laboring  to  convert  the  heathen, 
reform  the  inebriate,  alleviate  the  sufferings  of  the 
poor,  and  to  diffuse  throughout  all  reahiis,  and  all 
conditions  of  men,  the  practical  tokens  of  Christian 
mercy.  It  is  from  them  that  we  derive  our  armies 
of  Sunday-school  teachers,  tract  distributors,  visitors 
to  the  poor,  laborers  for  the  destitute  and  afflicted. 
It  is  upon  them  that  the  best  hopes  of  the  Christian 
Repuljlic  must  be  founded ;  for  they  constitute  by 
far  the  largest  portion  of  our  virtuous  and  religious 
community.  We  cannot  fail  to  be  painl'uUy  impressed 
with  the  cold,  hard,  austere  forms  of  social  existence 
presented  among  these  middling,  or  religious  classes. 
The  problem — one  of  the  most  vital  to  our  interests 


A.6CETICI8M   TO   BE   AVOIDED.  177 

— of  the  relation  of  amusements  to  well-regulated 
society,  lias  not  yet  been  solved,  nor  as  far  as  I 
am  apprised,  has  there  been  an  approach  to  a 
solution.  If  a  wretched  seclusion  or  a  harsh  con- 
ventionalism, baptized  with  the  name  of  churchly,  or 
Christian,  be  imposed  upon  young  people,  does  not 
every  one  know  that  they  will  be  guilty  of  private 
derelictions,  that  they  will  nurse  secret  vices,  and 
when  they  have  escaped  from  parental  guardian- 
ship, that  they  are  evidently  liable  to  revolt,  even 
from  all  good  influences,  and  rush  into  the  wild- 
est extremes  of  dissipation?  A  loathing  of  the 
Sabbath,  a  detestation  of  church-going,  a  disgust 
for  the  Bible,  are  not  unusual  tastes  among  the  chil- 
dren of  strictly  orthodox  families.  The  confessions 
of  later  years  inform  us  that  many  of  the  children 
of  pious  parents  are  accustomed  to  read  in  secret 
forbidden  books  and  those  of  the  very  worst  descrip, 
tion,  to  visit  those  places  of  amusement  which  have 
been  most  rigidly  interdicted,  and  in  every  way  to 
evade  the  vigilance  of  their  superiors,  and  to  disre- 
gard and  contemn  their  commands.  I  confess  that 
I  do  not  find  a  sufiicient  exj)lanation  of  these 
mysterious  facts  in  the  doctrine  of  the  depravity  of 
human  nature,  nor  in  the  declaration  that  the  chil- 
dren of  virtuous  parents  are  very  imps  of  Satan. 

This    tendency   towards   morbid   asceticism,    thus 
disastrous  in  its  effects  upon  young  people,  manifests 

8* 


178 


itself  in  anotlier  but  not  less  repulsive  form  among 
the  mature  portion  of  these  circles.  A  stiff  and 
formal  code  is  established,  to  regulate  such  larger 
assemblages  as  there  may  be,  while  often  a  frigid 
and  artificial  conventionalism  seems  tO  control  even 
the  most  select  intercourse  of  friendship.  Conversa- 
tion is  the  employment  of  the  groups  and  parties; 
but,  alas !  what  is  the  chief  characteristic  of  that  con- 
versation? They  begin  with  "news,"  and  proceed 
to  the  canvass  of  reputation.  The  qualities  of 
acquaintances  and  neighbors  are  discussed  with 
metaphysical  sharpness.  The  dissecting-knife  of  a 
cynical  criticism  is  unsparingly  applied  to  the  char- 
acters of  friends  and  associates.  Defects,  faults  and 
vices  of  others  are  pointed  out,  with  what  is  sup- 
posed to  be  unflinching  conscientiousness  ;  and  the  fol- 
lies of  those  occupying  superior  social  j)ositions  are 
searched  for  with  inquisitorial  rigor,  and  dealt  with 
after  a  most  scorching  fashion.  Domestic  difficulties 
unfortunately  dividing  families  of  their  own  "  sets,"  are 
scented  by  the  delicate  nostrils,  and  liunted  down 
by  the  ravening  appetites  of  too  many  who  claim 
and  receive  credit  for  great  sanctity.  Scandal  sup 
plies  the  stimulus,  at  many  virtuous  tea-parties, 
wliicli  dancing  affords  to  the  frequenters  of  tlie  ball- 
room ;  and  unlicensed  gossip  yields  an  ample  com 
pensation  to  crowds  whose  scruples  or  whose  mean? 
prevent  their  in(lulL'"f'iH*e  in  fashionable  recreations 


PHARISAISM   KEPLACES   TKUE   RELIGION.  179 

Stern  rebukes  are  administered   to  cliildish  merri- 
ment by  those  who  are  too  sour  to  be  gay;   while 
free   issues   of  gentle   and  spontaneous   feeling   are 
checked    and    driven    back    upon    the    ingenuous 
heart,     by     callous     indifference     and     puritanical 
and   Pharisaical   egotism.     That  there   is   a  fearful 
amount  of  illiberality,  narrowness  and  cant,  of  con- 
temptuous and  scornful  invective,  of  self  satisfied  and 
haughty  condemnation,  in  the  tone  and  conduct  of 
the  classes  we  are  considering,  no  one  well  acquainted 
with  them  can  for  a  moment  doubt.      Are  not  all 
these  inimical  to  the  true  tone  and  right  conduct  of 
society?     Are  we  to  be  united  only  as  vultures  in 
search  of  carrion ;  to  revel  upon  putrid  banquets  ?  Is  our 
only  compact  to  be  that  of  familiars  of  the  Holy  Office, 
to  pry  into  the  innermost  sanctuaries  and  consciences 
of  our  friends  and  relatives,  that  we  may  expose  their 
delinquencies,  short-comings  and  crimes  ?   Is  society  so 
established  that  the  strong  may  hunt  the  weak,  that 
those  that  are  whole,  needing  not  a  physician,  may 
cruelly  taunt  and  maltreat  those  that  are  sick  ?  that 
the  wounded  stag  may  perish  by  the  antlers  of  his 
unhurt  fellows?     Shall  the  sleek  face  palhate  libel, 
or   the    demure    expression    sanction  slander?     Can 
a  professed  regard   for  virtue  justify  bitterness   of 
spirit,    or   the    breadth    of  pharisaical    phylacteries 
atone  for  truculence  of  discourse?     Nay,  nay.     Soci- 
ety is  appointed  for  a  sweet  and  holy  office,  and 


180        AN  HOUR'S  TALK  AEOUT  TVOMAN. 

human  fellowship  is  ordained  unto  benign  and  mani- 
fold ministries ;  wit  and  wisdom,  cheerfulness  and 
mirth,  frolic  and  lightness  of  heart,  sweet  temper  and 
buoyant  spirits,  graceful  speech  and  generous  thought, 
should  characterize  the  manners  of  mankind.  We 
seek  friends  to  be  cheered,  not  criticised;  we  need 
sympathy,  not  potions  of  vinegar  and  wormwood. 
"We  come  to  the  pure  and  the  good  to  have  our  own 
views  of  goodness  and  purity  freshened  and  vitalized  ; 
that  our  drooping  fainting  sj^irits  may  be  quickened 
and  inspired.  We  want  the  hearty  words  and  kin- 
dling sentiments  accompanied  by  the  vibrating  tones 
which  tell  of  real  worth  and  real  communion  with 
virtue  and  holiness  ;  not  the  hollow  utterances  of  for- 
malism, nor  the  discordant  croakings  which  attest  the 
ravages  of  spiritual  dyspepsia.  What  we  desire  in  so- 
ciety is,  human  beings  with  flesh  and  blood,  mind  and 
heart ;  with  weaknesses  and  faults  and  yearnings  ;  with 
sadness  and  glee,  hope  and  buoyancy ;  with  virtues 
and  vices,  the  good  and  the  bad  inextricably  involved. 
We  desire  bone  of  our  bone  and  flesh  of  our  flesh  ;  part- 
ners in  our  want  and  woe,  brothers  in  our  high  call- 
ing and  destiny.  This  is  what  we  desire ;  not  per- 
pendicular lines  and  sharp  angles,  mathematical 
figures,  cold  unrealities,  or  spectral  apparitions.  A 
man's  best  virtues  must  strike  deep  root  in  silence 
and  solitude  ;  but  the  tender  shoot,  the  budding  foli- 
age, the  expanding  flower,  the  ripening  fruit,  must 


THE   POWER   OF   STMPATHT.  181 

be  nursed  and  vivified  by  the  open  air,  tlie  frequent 
dews,  the  early  and  latter  rains,  of  social  intercourse. 
The  hearty  pressure  of  a  friendly  hand,  the  kindly 
glance  of  a  gentle  eye,  the  soft  and  thrilling  tone  of 
a  pleasant  voice,  have  oftentimes  power  to  nerve  the 
soul  about  to  sink  into  the  yawning  abyss  of  despair, 
for  another  struggle,  perhaps  for  a  victorious  one,  with 
fate.  "Who  has  not,  in  some  lonely  and  critical  hour 
of  his  existence,  about  to  faint  and  perish  beneath  the 
crushing  load  of  pain  and  trouble,  seen  what  gracious 
power,  wliat  majestic  strength,  there  is  in  human 
sympathy  ? 

A  prime  and  irrevocable  law  of  our  nature  is  that 
man  cannot  enjoy  the  unshared  possession  ot  any 
good.  The  moment  he  attempts  exclusive  selfish 
appropriation  of  it,  its  virtue  departs ;  it  ceases  to  be 
a  benefit.  As  riches  increase,  they  that  shall  be  fed 
will  also  increase;  and  if  the  owner  deny  their  claim, 
either  his  wealth  will  vanish  from  him,  or  its  power 
to  cheer  and  animate  him  will  depart.  Countless 
illustrations  of  the  truth  of  the  proposition  might  be 
derived  from  every  department  of  our  activity  ;  I 
however,  propose  to  confine  my  vindication  to  the 
statement  of  the  provinces  of  intellectual  and  moral 
culture  ;  for  it  is  upon  obedience  to  this  law  that  these 
will  mainly  depend.  If  your  reading  and  observa- 
tion furnish  you  with  a  new  fact ;  if  by  laborious 
study  you  have  gained   insight  into  a   new  truth,  if 


182 


jour  eye  has  been  gladdened  by  the  vision  of  an 
unusually  magnilicent  sunset,  and  your  heart  has 
responded  to  the  gladness,  if  your  soul  has  come  into  a 
more  profound  acquaintance  with  beauty  and  good- 
ness, these,  one  and  all,  are  to  be  communicated  to 
your  fellows,  or  they  will  cease  to  be  a  part  of  you. 
!N"o  man  can  either  accumulate  the  knowledge  of  the 
phenomena  and  principles  of  science,  or  even  become 
fully  conscious  of  the  richest  revelations  of  his  in- 
tuitional nature,  who  is  content  to  lock  these  treasures 
within  his  own  brain,  and  bosom.  Truth,  sentiment, 
beauty,  all  that  the  mind  or  heart  can  receive,  may 
become  ours  upon  the  one  indispensable  condition  of 
reproducing  and  communicating  it.  The  refusal  to 
put  your  thought  into  words  and  tell  it  to  your  neigh- 
bor will  not  only  involve  the  loss  of  the  thought 
itself,  but  probably  in  due  time  of  the  power  by  which 
thought  is  produced.  Let  a  man  cheerfully  render 
what  he  has  received  ;  let  him  teach  what  himself  has 
been  taught;  let  him  interpret  perceptions  and 
reflections,  that  others  may  be  instructed  and  helped  ; 
and  his  education  progresses ;  maturity  of  view  as 
well  as  clearness  of  insight,  balance  of  statement,  and 
steadfastness  of  conviction  shall  hereby  be  gained. 
No  man  can  be  loyal  to  the  deepest  and  noblest  sen- 
timents, affections  and  principles  of  his  nature,  unless 
he  attempt  to  embody  and  set  them  forth  in  speech 
or  writing  for  the  service  of  his  kind.     It  is  upon  these 


CONVEESATION.  183 

truths  that  the  value  and  glory  af  the  literary  pro- 
fession are  based ;  and  these  at  the  same  time  enforce 
the  duty  of  conversation  and  ensure  its  reward.  We 
instinctively  act  ujjon  the  assumption  that  speech 
doubles  the  gains  and  halves  the  losses  of  experience. 
The  stricken  heart  soothes  its  own  bitterness  by  the 
recital  of  its  woe ;  and  the  cheerful  spirit  adds 
to  the  treasure  of  its  happiness  as  it  pours  the  welcome 
tale  into  the  ear  of  a  sympathetic  auditor.  The  ethe- 
real substances  of  which  intellections  are  made  will 
elude  or  defy  us  unless  they  are  fixed  in  the  gyves  of 
language ;  and  yet  when  they  are  thus  fastened,  un- 
less we  give  them  the  liberty  of  the  world,  and  share 
the  dower  which  they  have  conferred  upon  us  with 
our  friends  and  neighbors,  the  royal  captives  will 
disdain  our  lordship  ;  and  with  angry  and  yet  sorrowful 
aspect  will  vanish  into  thin  air  and  leave  not  a  trace 
behind.  Thoughts  in  the  mind  of  the  thinker  often 
lie  diffused  and  invisible  like  solids  dissolved  in  the 
vessels  of  the  chemist ;  the  electric  power  of  definite 
utterance,  like  the  mysterious  force  of  crystallization, 
'erects  the  unseen  substance  of  the  thought  into  visible 
and  permanent  shape. 

The  vocalized  thought,  ready  and  obedient  as 
a  vassal,  serves  our  purpose  of  enriching  others, 
and  at  the  same  time  adding  to  our  own  stores. 
"  There  is,"  says  Solomon,  "  that  scattereth  and  yet 
increaseth ;"  and  of  such  processes  this  is  one.     The 


184 


inevitable  tendency  and  conclusion  of  pui-posefnl  con- 
versation is  to  generate,  classify,  and  define  thinking  ; 
to  give  fullness,  accuracy,  and  simplicity  of  expres- 
sion, and  if  used  in  a  truly  humane  spirit,  to  nurse 
and  develop  the  sweetest  sympathies  and  most  be- 
nign attributes  of  our  nature.  Conversation  con- 
stitutes one  of  the  most  important  yet  one  of  the  most 
neglected  branches  of  education;  and  at  the  same 
time,  one  of  the  most  valuable  and  available  means 
of  usefulness.  'No  one  of  us  may  possess  the  learn- 
ing of  Scaliger,  or  the  epigrammatic  force  of  Selden, 
or  the  grace  and  erudition  of  Menage,  or  the  over- 
flowing fuHness  of  Johnson,  or  the  metaphysical 
acumen  and  boundless  stores  of  Mackintosh,  or  the 
ceaseless  wit  and  well-nigh  unparalleled  common 
sense  of  Sydney  Smith ;  yet  few  are  so  barren  or 
tongue-tied  by  nature  that  they  may  not  yield  amuse- 
ment, instruction  and  delight  to  their  companions. 
It  is  true  that  the  highest  style  of  conversation  pre-sup- 
poses  the  largest  range  of  faculties,  culture,  and  expe- 
rience ;  but  while  there  can  be  but  few  great  talkers, 
almost  all  have  it  in  their  power  by  cultivating  self-' 
acquaintance,  honest  endeavor  and  kind  disposition, 
to  minister  in  friendly  converse  to  the  well-being  of 
others.  The  best  and  most  beautiful  service  of  this 
kind  we  have  a  right  to  exact  from  women.  Their  pe- 
culiar constitution,  the  greater  delicacy  of  their  sensi- 
bilities, their  refinement  and  reach  of  sympathy,  their 


THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  CONVERSATION.      185 

larger  aud  more  genial  social  nature,  their  finer  capa 
city  to  apprehend  and  interpret  the  characters  of 
others,  their  ability  more  easily  and  gracefully  to  put 
their  notions  into  language,  justify  us  in  this  requi- 
sition. Added  to  all  this,  is  the  special  fact  that  the 
right  conduct  and  best  interests  of  social  life  are 
intrusted  to  their  guardianship. 

As  I  urge  this  statement  I  am  met  by  various 
apologies  and  complaints,  such  as — "  we  have  no  time  ; 
we  have  no  opportunity  to  cultivate  conversational 
power ;  we  decline  to  admit  the  truth  of  your  allega- 
tions in  regard  to  our  capacity  or  responsibility  ;  for 
we  are  not  so  highly  gifted,  noi*  is  our  position  one  of 
so  much  worth  and  dignity." 

I  rejoin  :  if  the  mass  of  young  women  were  to  spend 
as  much  time  upon  intellectual  culture,  in  acquiring 
the  ability  to  talk  well,  as  they  devote  to  the  looking- 
glass  or  toilet-table,  we  sliould  w^itness  an  instant  and 
rapid  revolution  in  society  ;  if  as  much,  interest  were 
felt  and  pains  taken  in  the  cultivation  of  really  good 
manners,  and  in  the  wise  and  graceful  use  of  the 
tongue,  as  are  expended  upon  dress,  flippant  young 
coxcombs  would  have  cause  to  mend  their  ways,  or 
to  quit  the  society  they  now  frequent ;  and  sensible, 
cultivated  men  would  have  less  compunction  in 
attending  evening  parties.  The  stammering,  incoher- 
ent style  of  speech,  the  breaks  and  pauses  in  which 
the  mind  seems  to  be  summoning  its  rebel  vassals  to 


186  AN    hour's   talk    about   WOilAX. 

do  tlieir  office,  the  spurious  coin  of  slang  and  vulgar- 
ity current  in  our  best  circles,  alike  testify  to  the 
wretched  need  and  the  prime  importance  of  distinct- 
ive conversational  training. 

May  I  be  permitted  to  suggest  a  few  hints  as  to 
the  method  for  training  the  tongue  to  fluent  and  ready 
exercise  ? 

Let  the  story-telling  habit  so  dear  to  children  be 
continued,  notwithstanding  the  awkward  and  uncom- 
fortable feeling  which  self-consciousness  so  painfully 
imposes.  You  need  never  be  at  a  loss  for  an  audit- 
ory so  long  as  children  are  numbered  among  your 
acquaintance;  and  if  you  exact  a  more  appreci- 
ative hearer,  you  can  easily  arrange  to  listen  as  well 
as  talk  with  your  bosom  friend — for  every  young 
lady  has  such.  From  anecdotes  and  tales  you  may 
proceed  to  narrations  from  your  graver  reading  ;  and 
then  to  comments,  discussion  and  criticism.  You  are 
thus  acquiring  the  use  of  your  lingual  and  mental 
abilities.  Words  grow  tamed  and  flexible  ;  ideas  and 
illustrations  yield  their  levies  at  command  ;  animated, 
instructive  and  inviting  speech  becomes  possible  ;  and 
thus  from  small  beginnings  and  in  however  limited  a 
theatre,  by  patient  continuance  and  earnest  endeavor 
you  gain  one  of  the  most  beautiful  accomplishments 
and  at  the  same  time  one  of  the  noblest  agencies  for 
good. 

Let  me  here  ui-ge  upon  my  younger  readers  the 


EDTJCATIONAL    SUGGESTIONS.  187 

peculiar  and  pre-eminent  importance  of  fully  and 
exactly  comprehending  the  meaning  of  words,  "  the 
counters  of  wise  men,  the  coin  of  fools,"  and  at  the 
same  time  insist  upon  their  studious  perusal  of  two 
most  admirable  and  fascinating  little  books,  written  by 
Richard  Chenevix  Trench  ;  one  on  "  The  Study  of 
"Words  "  the  other  on  "  English,  past  and  present ;" 
than  which  I  am  acquainted  with  no  books  better 
calculated  to  awaken  and  foster  in  the  popular  mind 
a  just  and  lively  estimate  of  our  noble  English  tongue. 

J^ever  read  without  a  lexicon  at  hand ;  if  possible, 
Richardson's.  JSTever  pass  a  word  of  the  significance 
of  which  you  ai*e  doubtful.  Carefully  con  its  primary 
and  derivative  meanings  ;  and  you  shall  find  the  cof- 
fers of  your  mind  filling  with  beautiful  and  lasting 
treasures. 

But  leaving  these  didactic  hints,  which  need  only 
be  considered  as  salient  suggestions,  I  may  briefly 
indicate  some  open  doors  to  w^oman's  generous  social 
activity.  It  is  true  that  our  civilization  may  be 
haunted  by  such  feminine  monstrosities  as  Mrs.  Jelly- 
by  and  Mrs.  Pardiggle ;  but  is  not  its  lustre  bright- 
ened by  such  names  as  those  of  Mrs.  Fry  and  Miss 
Dix  ?  A  beautiful  lesson  as  to  one  of  woman's  spheres 
and  her  power  to  perform  the  duties  it  imposes,  is 
taught  in  the  unostentatious  simple-hearted  Christian 
labors  of  many  of  the  Friends  in  this  country  and  in 
England.     Their  schools  for  prisons,  and  among  the 


188 


destitute ;  their  tireless,  yet  silent  efforts  for  the 
restoration  of  the  fallen,  the  relief  of  the  suffering ; 
their  constancy  and  patience  in  the  performance  of 
good  works,  are  lasting  memorials  to  their  honor  as 
well  as  significant  instructors  to  their  contemj^oraries. 
By  co-operation  with  many  of  the  schemes  which 
have  for  their  object  the  amelioration  of  the  state  of 
the  poor  and  suffering,  and  by  solitary  ministration  in 
the  abodes  of  the  lonely  and  oppressed,  may  women 
find  a  field  for  the  exercise  and  gratification  of  the 
largest  ambition.  Hand  to  hand  contact  with  the 
wretched ;  personal  presence  in  the  abodes  of  the 
lowly  ;  will  rectify  many  an  error  of  the  brain — will 
enlighten  many  a  dark  place  in  the  heart;  and  confer 
a  lasting  benison  upon  the  visitor  and  the  visited. 
Here  then,  in  neighborly,  friendly,  and  benevolent 
relations  and  ofiices,  are  the  fullest  scope  and  most 
admirable  possibilities  afibrded  to  woman  for  the 
training  of  character,  the  discipline  of  virtues,  the 
use  of  influence,  and  the  attainment  of  substantial 
honor  and  glory. 

We  turn  now  to  the  last  and  most  sacred  refuge  of 
our  hopes  on  earth  ;  the  peculiar  theatre  for  woman's 
struggles  and  success — Home.  Some  features  of  the 
domestic  life  of  our  country  claim  a  moment's  notice. 
We  are  an  indnstrious  and  enterprising  nation,  mthe 
earlier  stages  of  development  and  civilization.  Our 
labors,  if  we  liken  them  to  those  of  the  husbandman, 


OUE   DOltESTIC   LIFE.  189 


have  been   almost  exclusively  those    of  the  spring 
time,  of  ploughing  and  sowing.     Now  the  sun.n.er 
is  advancing,   when  it  becomes  us  with  careful  atten- 
tion and  unrelaxed  diligence  to  keep  down  tlie  weeds, 
and  ward  off  if  possible  the  dangers  to  which  our 
crops  are  exposed.    To  drop  the  figure,  our  contest 
thus  far  has  been  with  the  enemies  of  a  young  people. 
We  have  had  to  clear-  primeval  forests,  to  till  a  virgin 
continent,    to  lay  the  foundations  of  commerce  and 
manufactures,  to  organize   government,  and  to  pro- 
vide, in  so  far  as  has  been  practicable,  for  the  wants 
of   our    higher    nature.     We    have    been     chiefly 
engrossed  by  physical  and  political   necessities;  we 
have  been  mainly   conscious   of  external  pressure. 
How  to  get  the  means  of  living  has  been  the  great 
question,   urged   upon   us   as    a  people.      With    its 
answer  we  have  been  almost  exclusively  occupied. 
How  to  live,  now  that  the  means  are  acquired,  has 
been  accordingly    almost    overlooked.     It  may  be 
averred,   therefore,  without  much  injustice,  that  we 
have  little  or  no   true  domestic  life  in  this  country. 
Suppose  I  .picture  the  home  of  a  New  York  merchant 
in  flourishing  business ;  and  let  it  stand  with  such 
Bli<.ht  modifications  as  may  be  necessary  to  adjust  it 
to^latitude  and  neighborhood,  as  the  type  of  a  large 
class  of  American  homes. 

The  house  is  ample,  convenient,  and  showy  ;  the 
furniture  abundant,  sumptuous  and  costly ;  everything 


190        AN  hour's  talk  AEOUT  WOMAN". 

upon  the  premises  is  very  fine  and  very  new  ;  for  it 
is  an  axiom  in  our  domestic  economy  that  the  furni- 
ture of  a  "  good  liver  "  must  be  replaced  every  five 
or  ten  years.  The  drawing-room  is  ornamented  with 
rosewood  and  velvet,  with  expensive  tables  and  broad 
mirrors,  with  etageres  upon  which  are  throngs  of 
knick-knacks,  miniature  cups  and  saucers,  dapper  sta- 
tuettes of  china  and  a^U  manner  of  tasteless,  grotesque 
and  vulgar  devices  and  monstrosities.  Upon  the 
centre-table  or  the  "  what-not "  you  will  discover  a 
number  of  volumes,  gilt-edged  and  showily  bound, 
whose  chief  value  in  the  eyes  of  the  owner  seems  to 
be  the  price  they  cost.  The  portraits  of  the  interest- 
ing family  circle,  executed  in  the  "  first  style  of  art " 
and  set  in  gorgeous  frames,  decorate  the  walls. 
These  together  with  the  above-mentioned  articles  of 
virtu,  constitute  the  only  works  of  art  upon  the  pre- 
mises, except  the  very  magnificent  clock  which  ticks 
away  the  moments  upon  the  mantel,  and  probably 
a  pair  of  elaborate  vases  of  terrific  ugliness.  Tliis 
room  is  exclusively  for  those  guerilla  visits  made  by 
fashionable  ladies,  and  dignified  by  the  appellation 
of  "  calls  ;"  and  in  addition,  once  or  iv^^iQQ  per  annum ^ 
for  the  guests  at  an  entertainment  styled  "  a  party." 
Over  its  door  might  be  written  with  justice  the  de- 
scription, "  Cabinet  Furniture  Ware-room — no  admit- 
tance except  on  business."  The  family  apartments 
are  less  splendid,  yet  have  an   exceedingly  new  and 


AN   ILLUSTRATION.  191 

fine  look ;  and  yon  instinctively  imagine  that  tlie 
appliances  of  the  establishment  are  to  be  looked  at, 
not  nsed.  Tiiere  is  every  convenience,  but  little 
comfort. 

Tliose  evolutions  of  the  household  which  concern 
the  respectable  head  of  the  family  are  ordered  with 
great  promptitude  and  punctuality.  Breakfast  is 
eaten  at  an  early  hour ;  tea  is  taken  about  dark. 
Dinner  is  for  the  lady  and  her  children  ;  as  her  hus- 
band "  eats  down  town,"  except  on  Sundays.  The 
food  is  rapidly  dispatched  ;  there  is  little  or  no  con- 
versation ;  the  table  is  to  be  eaten  from,  then  quitted 
with  precipitancy.  After  tea,  the  gentleman  has  his 
newspaper,  his  accounts,  and  his  letters  to  attend  to, 
wherefore  he  dons  his  dressing-gown  and  slippers, 
and  takes  his  statuesque  place  by  the  sitting-room 
table ;  the  children  must  not  speak  a  word,  for 
"papa  is  busy."  The  little  ones  are  put  to  bed,  and 
mamma  sews  on  in  silence.  If  she  address  a  remark 
to  her  liege,  she  is  probably  so  curtly  answered  that 
she  will  not  venture  it  again,  or  else  she  is  reminded 
that  he  is  occupied.  In  this  unsocial  way  the  hours 
pass  until  bedtime ;  when  they  retire,  he  jaded  and 
careworn,  she  sick  at  heart.  The  father  and  husband 
is  never  less  at  home  than  when  at  home ;  and  yet  he 
expresses  wonder  that  his  children  are  never  con- 
tented to  be  in  the  house  in  the  evening  unless  they 
have  company.     What  contribution  does  he  make  to 


192 


their  enjoyment  or  instruction?  "Wliat  light  of  tran- 
quillity or  joy  does  he  shed  throughout  the  house- 
hold ?  How  he  frets  if  a  little  one  toddles  up  to  him 
to  claim  his  attention,  to  (""istract  his  thought  from 
consuming  care  !  How  he  fii  nes  if  breakfast  be  not 
ready  at  the  moment,  or  his  shirt  be  minus  a  button  ! 
He  is  thinking  of  money.  Is  it  strange  that  the 
Penates  are  transformed  into  golden  calves  ? 

Let  me  illustrate  the  love  of  Mammon  which  is  dif- 
fusing its  accursed  lust  as  a  leprosy  throughout  the 
households  of  the  land,  by  two  or  three  instances  which 
fell  under  my  own  observation.  A  gentleman  of 
moderate  means,  addicted  to  literary  and  scholastic 
pursuits,  settled  a  few  months  since  in  I^ew  York. 
Three  of  his  children,  ranging  in  age  from  three  to 
nine,  w4th  the  strong  instinct  of  childhood  for  com- 
panionship sought  playmates  among  their  neighbors. 
As  the  little  ones  were  engaged  in  friendly  romps 
with  some  new-found  fellows  upon  the  adjoining  side- 
walk, a  stately  dame  in  elaborate  toilet,  curls,  ribbons, 
laces,  flounces,  hoops,  made  her  appearance  upon  the 
steps,  and  thus  harangued  the  little  strangers :  "  Go 
home,  children :  go  home.  I  can't  allow  poor  people's 
brats  to  play  with  my  children !"  Her  children  lived 
in  a  house  four  stories  high  ;  the  "  brats,"  in  one  of 
three  and  a  half.  These,  coming  home,  piteously 
asked  their  motlier  if  it  was  naughty  not  to  be  rich  ? 

Tlie  same  family  had  occasion  to  employ  a  semps- 


CLASS    SEPARATISM.  193 

tress ;  and  secured  for  that  purpose  an  Irish  girl. 
She  had  been  in  the  house  at  work  a  day.  when  she 
received  a  visit  from  her  sister,  a  strapping  red-faced 
cook,  who,  putting  her  arms  a-kimbo,  surveyed  the 
apartments  with  lofty  disdain,  and  then  commenced 
in  the  rudest  and  vilest  manner  to  abuse  her  sister 
for  taking  service  in  such  an  establishment.  The  lady 
of  the  house,  entering  the  room  to  know  the  reason 
of  the  outcry,  was  next  most  bitterly  assailed  for 
daring  to  bring  a  "  dacent  girl "  into  such  a  little 
house,  and  one  so  "  manely "  furnished.  "  What 
right  has  such  a  poor  family  as  yez  are  wid  a  semps- 
tress ?"  cried  she,  in  iBery  indignation.  The  sewing- 
girl,  upon  being  questioned  by  the  perplexed  family, 
who  could  not  yet  comprehend  the  significance  of 
this  demonstration,  informed  them  that  her  sister 
would  not  permit  her  to  live  with  '^  the  kind  of  people 
they  were ;  for  she  had  always  been  accustomed  to 
live  with  "very  respectable  people — ^in  very  rich 
houses  indeed." 

A  bright  little  girl,  at  one  of  our  fashionable  water- 
ing-places came  sadly  to  the  mother,  with  the  com- 
plaint that  she  had  no  one  to  play  with.  Why  not, 
my  child  ?  was  the  maternal  inquiry.  "  Because  I  am 
not  nice,  my  clothes  are  not  fine  enough,  these  children 
will  not  play  with  me.  They  have  silk  dresses  and 
flounces,  and  broad,  gay  ribbons,  and  chains,  while 
my  dress  is  only  muslin  and  I  have  not  any  broad 

9 


194 


sash  or  chain,  and  they  say  I  am  not  good  enough  to  go 
with  them."  The  mother  looked  on  the  broad  saloon, 
where  groups  of  little  ones  were  gathered  promiscu- 
ously, and  saw  in  many  faces  whose  tender  years 
should  not  have  out-grown  the  marks  on  brow  and 
feature  of  the  benediction  of  Him  who  once  took  just 
such  in  his  arms  and  blessed  them,  only  the  vul- 
gar artificial  stare  of  worldliness  and  folly.  And  in 
such  an  atmosphere  her  darlings  must  breathe,  and 
either  share  the  infection,  or  brave  it  out  at  fearful 
risk — a  commentary  on  fashionable  life  sadder  and 
darker  than  any  of  the  homilies. 

These  trivial  instances  illustrate  the  fearfully 
debauched  state  of  opinion  upon  social  morals  and 
manners,  prevalent  among  large  masses  of  the  com- 
munity ;  in  which  a  man's  expenditure  is  made  the 
standard  of  his  respectability ;  and  ostentatious  dis- 
play and  extravagance  the  test  of  qualification  for 
social  life.  The  greed  for  gold,  like  a  canker,  is  eat- 
inir  out  the  heart  of  our  healtliful  life  ;  and  what  is 
acquired  by  painstaking  toil,  speculation,  with  the 
fevered  haste  of  a  gambler,  is  lavished  in  reckless 
profusion,  with  flaunting  display.  There  never  was  a 
country  where  money  was  so  rapidly  made ;  there 
never  was  a  country  where  money  was  so  vulgarly 
and  indecently  spent. 

Besides  this  artificial  and  hollow  form  of  domestic 


EVIL   INFLUENCES.  195 

life  with  which  we  are  cursed,  I  must  alhide  to 
another  monstrous  evil  which  has  already  been  hint- 
ed at,  growing  out  of  the  senseless  and  sensualized 
conceptions  of  our  people  ;  I  refer  to  the  boarding- 
house  system.  Such  is  the  scale  of  expense  which 
young  married  people  find  it  essential  to  adopt,  that 
housekeeping  is  impossible.  Lodgings  are  therefore 
taken  ;  where  the  childless  wife,  for  eight-tenths  of 
her  waking  hours,  is  thrown  upon  her  own  resources, 
among  such  acquaintances  and  associates  as  tlie  com- 
mon table  may  bring  her  into  contact  with.  Her  life 
is  one  of  leisure,  if  not  one  of  ease  and  indolence; 
and  who  does  not  know  that  the  idle  brain  is  the 
devil's  work-shop?  ^The  female  inmates  of  these 
houses  lounge  in  each  others'  apartments;  dis- 
cuss the  gossip  of  the  house ;  "  read,  mark,  learn, 
and  inwardly  digest "  the  records  of  divorce  trials, 
and  such  other  tit-bits  of  scandal  as  our  "  family 
newspapers "  provide  them  withal ;  stroll  out  for 
an  hour's  aimless  walk ;  return  to  loll  or  sleep 
for  an  hour,  and  then  dress  for  dinner.  The  narrow 
income  of  the  clerk  or  younger  partner  fails  to  supply 
the  youthful  wife  with  all  the  expensive  decorations 
which  she  deems  requisite  to  show  off  her  fine  per- 
son. The  chances  are  that  she  will  begin  by  ogling 
and  end  with  infamy ;  that  her  expensive  tastes  will 
be  gratified  by  her  husband's  recourse  to  fraud,  or 
her  own  to  more  ignominious  means.     I  cannot  but 


196 


regard  the  growing  habit  of  boarding,  with  the  train  of 
risks,  evils  and  horrors  inseparable  from  it,  as  one  of 
the  most  terrible  dangers  by  which  the  domestic  and 
social  interests  of  our  country  are  threatened. 

Another  appalling  fact  demands  an  instant's  consid- 
eration. The  exaggerated  notions  with  which  our 
young  people  are  imbued,  are  tending  more  and  more 
every  year,  to  prevent  marriage  between  persons  who, 
but  for  their  ill-judged  and  absurd  views,  might  be 
most  fitly  wedded.  The  result  is  that  many  of  our  very 
best  young  women  must  linger  out  unmated  lives, 
while  young  men  with  less  scruple,  and  less  respect 
for  public  opinion,  accept  the  horrible  alternative  of 
an  illegitimate  connection,  thus  deliberately  dedicat- 
ing themselves  to  vice  and  crime.  I  neither  overstate 
nor  croak.  These  are  truths  patent  to  every  one 
familiar  with  the  city  life  of  this  country.  They  are 
fiicts  pregnant  with  mischief  and  disaster.  They  are 
facts  chargeable  upon  the  ill-regulated,  even  monstrous 
social  lite  of  the  country.  They  are  facts  demanding 
a  prompt,  full,  earnest  consideration  from  the  best 
men  and  women  among  us. 

From  whom  have  we  a  right  to  ask  the  initiation 
of  reform  ?  Who,  by  their  constitution,  their  position 
in  the  family,  the  delicate  pervasive  influence  with 
which  they  are  endowed,  may  inaugurate  the  revolu- 
tion and  carry  it  forward  to  a  successful  termination  ? 
The  child  is  father  of  the  man ;  and  the  child's  char- 


WOMAN   THE   TRUE   REFORMER.  197 

acter  is  moulded  by  tlie  mother.  The  nurseries  of 
to-day  contain  the  Society  and  the  State  of  the  next 
generation  ;  and  in  the  child's  world,  woman's  dignity 
and  sway  are  regal.  I  have  little  confidence  in  polit- 
ical or  moral  reforms  ;  in  measures  which  attempt  to 
persuade  and  rectify  men.  If  society  is  purged  it 
must  be  by  the  sanctification  of  home,  by  the  sway 
of  female  influence  over  childhood.  I  have  fre- 
quently heard  it  complained  by  women  who  revolted 
at  the  narrow  theatre  assigned  them,  "  You  send  us 
back  to  the  care  of  children ;  condemn  us  to  be 
nurses  and  enslave  us  in  the  drudgery  of  the  family." 
Let  us  calmly  survey  the  lot  of  the  housekeeping 
wife  and  mother.  The  school-girl  pines  for  the  free 
air  and  joys  of  society.  She  is  enfranchised  at  six- 
teen or  eighteen  ;  and  leaving  the  dull  routine  and 
harsh  trammels,  as  she  esteems  them,  of  her  novitiate, 
she  bounds  with  a  glad  step  into  the  sunny  places  of 
society.  She  ceases  to  woo  the  muses,  that  herself 
may  be  wooed  in  turn  ;  and  either  devotes  a  few 
years  to  the  jilting  career  of  a  coquette,  or  quickly  sur- 
renders her  heart  and  her  hand  to  the  man  of  her 
choice.  Hitherto  she  has  been  under  parental  con- 
servatism and  restraint;  her  aspirations  have  been 
checked,  her  mo^ments  controlled,  and  many  of  her 
"  rights  "  denied ;  but  now  she  will  be  free.  The 
future  lies  before  her,  a  garden  of  pleasure.  It  is  a 
land  of  enchantment.     Alas !    the  nuptial  blessing 


198 


is  hardly  uttered  before  tlie  spell  is  broken,  and  she 
finds  lier  future  a  schoolmaster  more  harsh  and  stern 
than  any  she  has  yet  known.  Love  is  an  episode  in 
the  life  of  most  men  ;  a  brilliant,  humanizing,  divine 
episode ;  and  her  husband  is  not  an  exception  to  the 
rule.  lie  came  to  lier  decked  with  garlands,  and 
moving  to  the  soft  voice  of  music.  She  is  no  sooner 
his  bride,  than  he  dofi's  his  paradisiacal  habiliments 
and  manners,  and  returns  to  his  working-day  world, 
where  he  is  soon  absorbed  almost  as  much  as  if  there 
w^ere  no  such  person  as  herself  in  existence. 

For  a  while  she  carries  the  freshness  of  her  hope 
and  her  youth  along  with  her.  After  a  time  is 
heard  a  faint,  childish  wail.  A  fountain  of  bless- 
ings is  opened  in  her  breast,  of  whose  depth  and 
sweetness  she  never  before  had  dreamed ;  but  with 
the  joy  of  motherhood  comes  its  care.  Years  come 
and  go.  A  brood  of  little  ones  encompass  her ;  and 
now  her  need  is  sore.  The  endless  details  of  house- 
keeping, the  necessity  of  regulating  her  expendi- 
tures in  accordance  with  her  husband's  income,  the 
ceaseless  use  of  the  needle,  the  sleepless  vigilance  for 
the  welfare  of  her  best  beloved,  the  thousand  anxieties 
and  toils  which  men  never  reckon,  never  appreciate, 
duties  in  the  performance  of  wli^h  she  can  hope 
for  no  sympathy,  bind  upon  her  shoulders  a  load, 
and  fasten  in  her  heart  a  weight  of  anxiety,  which 
threaten  to  crush  her  to  the  earth.     Slie  has  scarce  a 


DOMESTIC   SOLICITUDES.  199 

moment  which  she  can  call  her  own.  Once  she 
dreamed  of  literary  culture;  the  sweet  companion- 
ship of  books,  the  refining  influences  of  art,  the  bless- 
ings of  gracious  hospitality ;  but  now  she  has  neither 
leisure  nor  heart  to  bestow  upon  them.  Many  a  time 
she  piteously  murmurs,  "  Why  was  I  born  ?  Am  I  not 
a  slave  ?"  Sickness,  disappointment,  sorrow,  do  their 
work  upon  her ;  she  is  weary  and  heavy  laden.  The 
conflicting  tempers  of  her  children  are  to  be  regulated  ; 
their  tumultuous  little  world  harmonized,  their  ail- 
ments nursed,  their  afflictions  softened.  The  attempt 
to  brino^  a  clean  thins;  out  of  an  unclean  must  be 
made,  by  governing  awkward,  deceitful,  treacherous 
Irish  domestics.  Her  life  seems  consumed  by  trifles, 
and  yet  their  accumulation  threatens  a  devouring  fire 
of  inextinguishable  fagots.  There  can  be  no  contin- 
uous effort  in  any  one  direction,  because  of  moment- 
ary interruption.  Her  existence  is  broken  into  frag- 
ments. The  constant  calls  upon  her  involve  her  in 
perplexity,  and  her  steps  are  ever  taken  amidst  con- 
fusion. And  then  come  the  seasons  when  the  pulse 
stands  still,  as  she  bends  in  an  agony  of  suspense  over 
the  sick  child,  in  whose  breast  the  wave  of  life  ebbs 
and  flows  uncertainly.  The  issue  is  determined,  and 
there  is  a  vacant  place  in  the  little  bed,  and  another 
tiny  hillock  in  the  grave-yard.  The  days  dedicated 
to  petty  cares  are  darkened  by  the  shadow  of  a  great 
grief,  and  the  light  broken  slumbers  of  a  mother  are 


200 


disturbed  bj  painful  dreams  only  less  painful  than 
realities. 

Thus  do  the  months  revolve  in  attendance  upon 
trivialities — baking,  sweeping,  dusting,  mending, 
patching,  cutting,  making,  managing,  contriving; 
keeping  little  hands  and  faces  clean,  hearing  perpetu- 
al complaints,  drj^ing  tearful  eyes  a  hundred  times, 
condoling  with  the  youthful  sufferers  from  wounds  and 
bruises,  responding  a  thousand  times  a  day  to  calls 
upon  "Mamma."  Thus  do  the  years  proceed, 
wherein  the  monotony  of  housekeeping,  and  maternal 
solicitude  is  only  broken  by  some  great  and  awful 
trouble,  and  before  men  pass  their  prime,  their  wives 
are  broken  in  health,  and  wasted  in  form.  Foreigners 
universally  remark  the  fresh  beauty  and  winsome 
grace  of  our  girls,  but  at  the  same  time  the  premature 
fading  and  rapid  decay  of  our  women.  They  have  a 
slang  phrase  in  the  West,  which  tells  the  story  after 
a  coarse  but  pointed  fashion — "  It's  a  great  country 
for  men  and  horses,  but  its  death  on  women  and  oxen.'' 

My  picture  of  woman's  wedded  life  may  not  be  a 
pleasant  one,  but  I  believe  it  truthful, — and  truth  in 
human  life,  I  think,  is  oftenest  a  sad  thing  to  con- 
template. 

No,  young  woman !  marriage  is  not  an  Elysian 
region  of  freedom,  repose,  and  happiness,  but  a  scene, 
— as  is  our  mortal  state  for  all — of  responsibility,  trial 
and  labor. 


HEK   MORAL   REQUIEEMENTS.  201 

How,  then,  I  am  asked,  do  you  reconcile  this  con- 
dition of  things  with  the  government  of  universal 
love  ?  Why  do  you  exalt  the  position  of  woman,  and 
exact  from  one  oppressed  and  hampered  as  she  is,  the 
exercise  of  the  sublimest,  widest-reaching  influence, 
the  inauguration  of  the  grandest  and  most  enduring 
reforms  ?  I  answer  all  the  questions  in  this  one  state- 
ment— the  great  end  of  human  existence  and  its 
divinest  power  is  character,  and  no  sphere  is  so  pro- 
pitious to  its  attainment  as  the  home-life  of  woman. 

Is  it  needful  that  I  vindicate  this  proposition  ?  Her 
relation  to  her  servants  demands  patience,  prudence, 
long-suffering,  self-control,  and  strength  of  will.  Her 
house-keeping  exacts  diligence,  watchfulness,  punc- 
tuality, promptitude,  thrift,  management,  method. 
With  her  children  she  must  be  thoughtful,  gentle, 
firm  ;  ever  ruling  her  own  spirit  that  she  may  govern 
them  ;  self-possessed,  yet  sympathetic,  blending  dig- 
nity with  grace,  and  tenderness  with  authority. 
Toward  her  husband  she  will  have  need  to  be  gene- 
rous, magnanimous,  forgiving ;  to  her  guests  urbane 
and  gracious ;  to  her  neighbors  obliging  and  help- 
ful ;  to  the  poor,  friendly  and  kind  ;  toward  the  great, 
decorous  yet  self-respectful.  When  the  family  for- 
tunes meet  with  reverses,  and  her  husband  is 
dispirited  and  crushed,  from  the  more  flexible  and 
elastic  nature  should  come  the  spring  and  vigor  by 
which  losses  may  be  retrieved  and  success  re-estab- 

9^ 


202 


lislied.  In  prosperous  affluence  her  seren^  spirit 
may  shed  tlie  tranquil  light  of  contentment  and  peace 
throughout  the  household.  In  the  time  of  utter- 
most need  and  darkness,  when  man's  hope  faileth,  and 
his  best  discretion  is  as  folly,  she  may  lend  wisdom  to 
his  councils,  and  strength  to  his  steps,  a  wisdom  and 
strength  which  she  has  obtained  from  One  who  "  giv- 
eth  liberally  and  upbraideth  not."  No  one  so  needs 
the  guidance,  comfort  and  succor  derived  from  prayer 
as  she.  To  no  one  is  the  mercy-seat  more  accessible. 
The  multiplicity  of  details  which  constitute  her  daily 
care,  it  would  seem  can  only  subject  her  to  perplexity 
and  vexation,  but  herein  is  a  school  for  mental  im- 
provement and  development.  The  best  powers  of 
foresight,  skill,  combination  and  construction,  may  be 
employed  in  restoring  the  tangled  web  to  order,  where 
every  thread  shall  find  its  appropriate  place  and  every 
set  of  colors  shall  be  assorted  in  a  fit  arrangement. 
Her  perspicacity  finds  scope  for  exercise  in  reading  the 
characters  of  her  children ; — and  the  action  of  intel- 
lect is  never  so  healthful  and  beautiful  as-  when 
impelled  by  beneficent  sensibility.  The  little  gene- 
ralship of  the  family  summons  the  best  powers  into 
alert  and  strengthening  movement.  The  feebleness 
of  infancy,  the  waywardness  of  youth,  the  opening 
consciousness  of  her  larger  children,  alike  demand 
of  her,  vigilance,  solicitude,  self-poise  and  energy. 
When  she  is  weary  and  well-nigh  exhausted,  how  do 


MATERNAL  TEACHINGS.  203 

the  fires  of  lier  life  rekindle  as  she  beholds  the  meriy 
sports  and  gambols  of  her  darlings !  The  bloom  upon 
their  rosy  cheeks,  and  the  light  of  their  sunny  glances, 
bring  back  the  lustre  to  her  own  eyes,  and  the 
unaccustomed  blood  to  her  wan  face.  In  an  hour 
like  this  she  tastes  of  happiness,  and  surely  no  married 
fiirt,  no  gay,  worldly-minded  woman  ever  experienced 
in  quaffing  the  chalices  of  adulation  offered  to  her 
vanity,  such  pure  ethereal  joy,  as  that  which  fills  the 
true  mother's  heart  in  beholding  the  innocent  glad- 
ness of  her  offspring.  Their  delight  is  to  her  as  a 
well  of  refreshment  in  the  valley  of  her  pilgrimage. 
Her  force  of  will  is  invoked  that  she  may  govern 
them  ;  and  her  sweetest  pity  that  she  may  pardon  ;  a 
quick  and  tender  conscience  is  required  for  the 
delicacy  and  responsibility  of  her  trust.  Faith  is 
needed,  for  she  guides  the  footsteps  of  heirs  of  immor- 
tality. Her  work  should  ripen  in  her  confidence  in 
the  germs  of  goodness  which  she  plants  in  the  soil  of 
her  children's  nature,  in  the  care  with  which  she 
tends  it,  in  the  spiritual  ministry  which  shall  guard  it, 
and  in  the  eternal  providence  which  ensures  the  fruit 
of  her  labor.  God  stations  the  mother  by  the  cradle 
and  bids  her  yield  her  hand  to  guide  the  uncertain 
steps  of  childhood,  that  man's  earliest  years  may 
have  the  presidency  and  control  of  one  apt  to  teach, 
able  to  direct,  and  competent  to  bless  him.  The 
mother  is  called  to  a  life  of  self-sacrifice,  and  is  not 


204  AN  hour's  talk  about  woman. 

this  the  true  notion  of  life,  embodying  the  highest 
conception  of  clTaracter  ?  The  greatest  the  world  has 
known,  whom  men  have  taken  for  their  teacher  hath 
said,  "  He  that  would  be  great  among  you  let  him  be 
the  servant  of  all."  Home-life  is  a  toilsome  but 
a  benignant  ministry  ;  the  highest  requital  of  its  ser- 
vice is  in  the  character  which  is  gained  by  its  blessed 
labor. 

Who  does  not  feel  and  know,  that  the  divinest 
agency  and  force  with  which  we  are  made  acquainted, 
is  character  ?  A  perfectly  educated  will,  calms,  con- 
trols, and  directs  others.  It  is  higher  than  intellect, 
or  any  form  of  genius.  It  blends  the  strength  of 
Feeling,  with  the  serenity  of  Reason.  It  is  harmony 
of  nature,  wherein  the  creature's  will  is  subject  to 
the  Creator's,  after  tumultuous  striving  and  long- con- 
tinued endeavor.  It  is  the  one  only  thing  we  carry 
with  us  to  the  future.  As  it  is,  shall  we  be — blessed 
or  accursed.  Therefore  have  I  called  it  the  true  end, 
and  divine  power  of  human  life,  and  said,  that  the  most 
admirable  lot  for  its  acquisition  and  culture  is  the 
home-life  of  woman. 

In  these  three  provinces,  then, — literature,  society, 
and  home — is  her  true  sphere ;  here  may  her  influ- 
ence be  exercised,  and  trophies  and  rewards,  peer- 
less and  lasting  as  the  soul  itself,  be  won.  By  her 
books,  conversation,  manners  and  example,  may  she 
instruct  and  minister.     As   the   world  grows  wiser 


PRACTICAL   COUNSEL.  205 

and  better,  we  shall  see  these  truths  more  clearly, 
and  feel  them  more  deeply;  woman's  place  will 
become  more  distinctly  defined,  her  influence  more 
fully  recognized  and  increasingly  more  potent. 

In  conclusion,  it  may  be  allowed  me  to  offer  a  hint 
or  two,  as  worthy  and  weighty  subjects  for  thought,  to 
every  enlightened  and  conscientious  woman  in  the 
country. 

Our  girls  leave  school  and  enter  society  at  too 
early  an  age.  The  mischief  resulting  therefrom  is 
incalculable.  To  this  is  it  owing,  in  part,  that  we  have 
so  few  well-educated  women ;  so  many  precipitate 
and  ill-assorted  marriages,  so  much  discontent  and 
unhappiness  in  after  life.  Let  it  be  recollected  that 
most  of  our  young  women  are  "  finished  "  by  tlie  time 
they  are  seventeen,  and  then  tell  me  what  familiarity 
with  study,  what  real  discipline  of  mind,  they  can  have 
acquired.  Tliey  need  and  should  have  a  thorough 
classical  and  scientific  training,  and  to  this  end  should 
be  kept  at  school,  or  supplied  with  masters,  until  they 
are  twenty  at  least.  Out  of  'New  England  the  women 
know  nothing  of  science,  and  very  little  of  classical 
learning,  and  even  there,  those  who  do,  constitute  the 
exceptions.  I  have  heard  it  bitterly  complained 
that  the  men  who  draw  up  the  courses  of  study  for 
our  highest  schools  assign  so  narrow  a  limit  to 
the  curiosity  and  capacity  of  the  female,  and  one 
so  much  wider  to  the  male  scholars.     How  is  it  pos- 


206 


sible  to  do  otherwise  when  these  programmes  have 
to  be  prepared  to  suit  our  exigencies,  in  wliich  the 
young  lady  is  to  leave  school  the  moment  she  is  pre- 
pared to  study  ?  Is  it  surprising  that  the  course  should 
be  meagre  and  inadequate,  when  the  girl's  head  is 
full  of  beaux  and  parties,  from  the  time  she  puts  on 
long  dresses,  and  is  allowed  to  act  upon  the  assump- 
tion, that  she  is  competent  to  take  upon  herself  tho 
most  awful  resj^onsibilities  of  human  life,  before  she 
is  out  of  her  teens  ?  I  pronounce  the  opinion  after  not 
a  little  careful  inquiry  and  reflection,  that  the  greater 
number  of  fashionable  boarding-schools  among  us 
are  as  pernicious  and  baneful  institutions  as  any 
nourished  by  our  over-stimulated  civilization.  Let 
us  have  as  provision  for  the  education  of  the  future 
wives  and  mothers  of  the  Republic,  a  more  compre- 
hensive course  of  instruction ;  fewer  "  accomplish- 
ments "  as  they  are  called — apparently  in  derision ; 
and  more  earnest  patient  study,  and  a  drill  as  syste- 
matic and  thorough  as  any  now  prescribed  for  boys. 
My  other  suggestion  is  in  the  form  of  an  appeal  to 
my  countrywomen  to  cultivate  simplicity  of  life, 
taste,  and  manners.  Renounce  ostentatious  display, 
extravagant  expenditure;  abjure  the  outre^  monstrous 
styles  of  dress  in  vogue.  Study  the  colours  and 
fashion  most  becoming  to  yourself,  and  dare  to  follow 
the  dictates  of  a  refined  taste  in  apparel.  Refuse  a 
servile  compliance  with  the  reigning  mode.     Strive 


EDUCATIONAL  SUGGESTIONS.  207 

to  keep  your  children  young,  and  thus  secure  your- 
self against  the  advance  of  age.     In  ornamentation 
seek  beauty  rather  than  splendor,  and  in  the  decora- 
tion of  your  house,  select  articles  for  the  excellence 
of  their  form   and  color,  and   the  harmony  of  their 
oroportions,  rather  than   for  their  showy  costliness. 
Enough  money  is  spent  on  expensive  carpets  in  New 
York  houses  to  foster  a  national   school  of  art,  and 
yet  most  of  our  painters  and  sculptors  are  living  in 
poverty.  Throw  around  your  children  every  influence 
that  will  soften  and  refine  their  nature.     If  paintings 
and  marbles  are  too  expensive,  engravings  and  plaster 
are  within  the  reach  of  all.     Tolerate  no  license  of 
manners,  no  rudeness  of  speech  towards  yourself,  or 
in  your  presence.     Let  your  self-respect  be  so  strong 
that  others  will  be  forced  to  respect  you.     Suffer  not 
the  tongue  of  scandal,  nor  the  voice  of  tattle,  and  mis- 
chief-making, in  your  hearing.     Defend   your  chil- 
dren as  far  as  you  are  able  from  the  pestiferous  pas- 
sion for  fine  dress,  and  glittering  display.   Save  your- 
self and  them  from  hollow  and  vulgar  pretension, 
and  give  us  an  example  of  cheerfulness  under  toil,  of 
fortitude  amid  trial,  and  of  contentment  united  with 
diligence  and  effort. 

I  have  had  occasion  in  these  remarks  to  speak 
plainly;  at  times,  perhaps  sternly.  At  parting 
it  is  only  fair  that  I  should  use  w^ords  of  diflerent 
tone.     It    is    usual   for    our    countrymen    returned 


208 


from  foreign  travel,  to  descant  upon  the  supe- 
rior qualities  of  the  women  of  other  lands — the 
seductive  grace  and  passion  of  those  of  southern 
Europe;  the  animated  manners,  the  sj)rightliness 
and  perpetuated  bloom  of  the  Parisienne  ;  the 
sustained  strength  of  constitution,  and  pure  white  and 
red  of  the  complexion  belonging  to  the  Germans ; 
the  robust  freshness  and  plump  round  figures  of  the 
Dutch.  That  there  is  a  want  of  physical  stamina  and 
development  in  our  women,  I  readily  concede ;  that 
more  fresh  air,  systematic  out-door  invigorating  exer- 
cise would  be  serviceable,  all  must  agree.  It  is  a  sad 
fact  that  beautiful  feet  and  ancles  are  often  purchased 
at  the  price  of  bodily  torpor  and  enfeebled  frames. 
But  taking  them  for  "  all  in  all,"  there  are  no  such 
women  in  the  world,  and  never  have  been,  as  those 
speaking  the  English  tongue.  In  moral  fibre  and 
elevated  tone  ;  in  perception  of  duty  and  loyalty  to 
it ;  in  a  deepening  Christian  consciousness,  and  a 
heroic  life  of  self-renunciation  ;  in  the  unmurmur- 
ing endurance  of  privation,  hardship,  and  pain  ;  in 
the  cheerful  and  disinterested  sacrifice  of  personal 
comfort,  ease  and  happiness,  for  the  good  of  others, 
they  are  without  peers  in  the  past  or  present.  Other 
climes  may  produce  more  brilliant,  attractive,  and 
fascinating  women — those  who  dress,  dance,  walk, 
coquette,  and  talk,  more  gracefully  and  invitingly ; 
but  there  are  no  such  wives  and  mothers  as  our  own. 


FUTUEE  HOPES.  209 

Their  purity,  truth,  and  godliness  are  the  best 
defences  of  our  national  life.  Their  generous  influ- 
ence shall  create,  and  their  pious  care  shall  nurse  a 
race  of  future  giants,  majestic-  in  self-control,  and 
mighty  for  the  overthrow  of  evil. 


FRENCH  CHIVALRY  IN  THE  SOUTHWEST. 


211 


FRENCH  CHIYALRY  IN  THE  SOUTHWEST. 


Commerce  was  a  late  birth  of  Time.  Its  infancy 
dates  from  tlie  Portuguese  discoveries  of  tlie  fifteenth 
century.  Its  growth  was  a  rapid  one  ;  and  even  in 
the  season  of  its  youth,  such  was  its  Titanic  strength 
of  muscle  and  grasp,  that,  as  with  a  volatile  glee,  it 
shook  the  world  out  of  its  long  slumber  in  the  dormi- 
tory of  superstition.  The  mind  of  the  world,  in  a 
sort  of  nightmare,  had  been  engrossed  for  ages  with 
abstract  opinions.  Loyalty  to  the  central  principle 
of  authority  had  bound  men  with  slavish  manacles. 
Religion — such  religion  as  they  had — was  the  pivot 
of  all  national,  social,  domestic  and  individual  move- 
ment. Under  the  plea  of  its  requisition,  Europe 
armed  itself  against  the  infidel ;  and  the  Catholic 
empires  fitted  out  exterminating  expeditions  against 
the  inoffensive  Albigenses.  With  its  sanction  Ferdi- 
nand the  Catholic  summoned  his  steel-clad  warriors 
to  battle  against  the  Moors  of  Granada;  and  the 
pious  Isabella  inaugurated  the  ferocious  horrors  of 


213 


214  FEENOH   CHIVALKY   IN   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

the  Inquisition.  The  journeys  which  men  undertook 
were  chiefly  pilgrimages  to  holy  shrines.  All  forms 
of  industry,  all  types  of  genius,  were  subordinated  to 
the  sway  of  credulity.  The  sword  was  unsheathed 
and  continents  were  deluged  in  blood  in  behalf 
of  the  speculations  of  sophists.  Princes  ruled  in 
virtue  of  divine  right ;  and  in  their  eyes  the  people 
were  as  the  fine  dust  of  the  summer  threshing-floor. 
The  religious  wars  begun  by  Constantine,  were  contin- 
ued through  the  sixteenth  century.  During  a  night  of 
nearly  fourteen  hundred  years  great  forces  were 
engaged  in  fearful  struggles;  but  human  rights 
greater  than  the  forces,  lay  in  a  deep  unbroken 
slumber.  The  strength  of  the  knight,  and  -the  craft 
of  the  priest,  the  one  wielding  sharp-edged  iron,  the 
other,  book,  bell  and  candle,  fought  with  or  against 
each  other.  The  one  asserted  the  supremacy  of  brute 
force ;  the  other  of  intellectual  power.  Both  were  alike 
intent  upon  the  establishment  of  despotism.  Feudal- 
ism and  Romanism — the  throne  and  the  church — 
equally  sought  their  continuance  by  the  sacrifice  of 
the  rights  of  the  many,  to  the  advantage  of  the  few. 
The  crown  and  the  altar  were  to  be  perpetuated  at 
the  expense  of  humanity.  Their  rapacious  lust  for 
gold  sealed  the  act  of  their  discomfiture.  Naviga- 
tion unlocked  the  treasures  of  new  worlds;  the  priest 
and  the  soldier  hastened  to  possess  themselves  of  the 
spoil ;  but  in  due  time  the  citizen  came  to  laugh  at 


EARLY  CHARTERS  OF  TRADE.  215 

the  thunders  of  the  Yatican  and  the  sceptre  of  the 
prince. 

At  first,  sovereigns  sought  to  employ  commerce  as 
they  had  before  used  the  sword  and  the  brain^ — to 
further  the  ends  of  tyranny  ;  but  the  young  giant  was 
mightier  than  his  old  masters  ;  he  smote  them  down 
and  laughed  them  to  scorn. 

The  theory  of  conquest  and  of  colonization  in  the 
New  World  adopted  by  the  European  monarchs  was 
virtually  this :  that  the  recently  acquired  territory 
was  to  be  subjected  to  the  supreme  will  of  the 
king,  and  tributary  to  the  profit  and  pleasure  of  him- 
self and  his  capital.  Mexico,  Peru,  and  the  Indies 
were  regarded  by  Charles  and  Philip  as  so  many 
orchards  and  mines,  whose  products  might  gratify 
the  royal  palate  and  fill  the  royal  cofi'ers.  Eliza- 
beth, James  and  Charles  seemed  to  consider  New- 
foundland and  New  England  simply  as  .fisheries,  the 
sole  business  of  whose  people  it  was  to  supply  Britain 
with  cod  and  mackerel ;  while  Louis  the  Fourteenth 
granted  to  his  favorites  unlimited  demesnes  in  New 
France  and  on  the  Mississippi,  and  charters  of  mono- 
poly for  the  fur  trade  therein.  The  great  monarch's 
courtiers  and  mistresses  wanted  costly  peltries  to  de- 
corate their  noble  persons ;  to  this  end  the  Indians 
might  hunt  on  the  borders  of  Superior  or  by  the 
banks  of  the  St.  Lawrence  and  Mississippi,  and  the 
traders  transport  their   precious   merchandise  from 


216  FEEXCH   CHIVALET  IN  THE   SOUTHWEST. 

Quebec.  Xo  vessels,  save  those  under  the  flag  of  the 
proprietary  monarch,  might  trade  in  a  provincial  port. 
Thus  did  the  kings  seek  to  bind  the  infant  commerce 
with  the  fetters  of  monopoly. 

In  due  time  the  regulation  of  trade  comes  to  be 
regarded  as  a  prime  article  in  treaties  between  nations. 
The  courts  of  Madrid,  Paris  and  London  are  bidders 
for  the  tribute  of  the  seas.  All  the  arts  of  diplomacy 
are  brought  to  bear  by  the  royal  competitors  and 
their  envoys,  to  gain  the  coveted  prize.  The  tactics 
of  negotiation  are  exhausted  in  many  a  keen  encoun- 
ter ;  but  first  Spain,  and  afterwards  France  are  out- 
witted, and  England,  by  the  treaty  of  Utrecht,  1713, 
is  acknowledged  mistress  of  the  deep. 

I  have  thought  it  might  be  an  attempt  not  devoid 
of  interest,  to  place  before  you  the  effort  of  France  to 
transplant  Feudalism  into  the  soil  of  the  New  World, 
and  to  carry  thither  her  chivalry.  In  virtue  of  the 
discoveries  of  James  Marquette  the  Jesuit  and  priest, 
the  first  European  who  sailed  on  the  waters  of  the 
upper  Mississippi,  and  of  the  Sieur  Eobert  Cavalier 
de  la  Salle,  the  bold  trader,  the  first  to  follow  the 
stream  to  the  sea,  France  laid  claim  to  all  the 
regions  bordering  the  Father  of  Waters,  and  upon 
his  tributaries.  The  tract  extended  from  the  foot 
of  the  Appalachian  chain  to  the  head-waters  of 
the  Missouri ;  from  tli^  Balize  to  Itasca  Lake.  But 
it  was  a  dim  cloudy  realm  to  Europeans ;   known 


EAKLY   DISCOVERIES   IN   THE   SOUTHWEST.  217 

to  tliem  only  hj  tlie  marvellous  and  exaggerated 
reports  wliicli  had  reached  them  from  the  few 
explorers.  The  Mississippi  had  never  been  entered 
from  the  Gulf  except  by  Andrew  de  Fez,  a  Spaniard, 
about  1680,  and  of  his  discovery  no  trace  remained. 
The  brave  La  Salle  had  perished  in  attempting  to 
find  its  month.  But  the  difficulty  of  the  discovery 
only  the  more  inflamed  the  imagination  and  enthusi- 
asm of  France,  already  kindled  by  the  reported  good- 
liness  of  the  land.  As  soon  as  the  Grand  Monarquo 
had  brief  space  to  rest  from  his  wars,  he  gave  heed 
to  the  importunate  cravings  of  some  of  his  subjects 
that  they  might  go  out  and  possess  the  fruitful  and 
illimitable  region  to  which  the  name  of  Louisiana  was 
given  in  honor  of  his  most  Christian  majesty.  A 
little  fleet  of  two  frigates  and  two  smaller  vessels  was 
fitted  out  in  the  port  of  Kochelle,  from  which  the  ill- 
starred  La  Salle  had  sailed  fourteen  years  before. 
The  command  was  intrusted  to  D'lberville,  a  noble 
admiral  of  the  French  navy,  who  had  spent  most  of 
his  life  in  the  Xew  World,  warring  with  the  icebergs, 
or  the  more  implacable  fury  of  his  English  adversa- 
ries about  Hudson's  Bay.  A  man  of  strict  integrity, 
undaunted  courage  and  unblemished  reputation, 
idolized  by  his  countrymen,  and  the  most  approved 
officer  of  the  French  navy,  he  was  now  to  try  his 
fortunes  in  a  region  bordering  upon  the  tropics. 
With  him  sailed  his  two  younger  brothers,  Sauvolle 

10 


218  FKENCH    CHTYALRT    IN   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

and  Bienville,  ^ho  were  to  be  his  partners  in  the 
perils  and  the  honors  of  the  enterprise.  They 
weighed  anchor  in  1698  ;  and  on  the  first  of  January, 
1699,  they  made  land  in  the  Gnlf.  Their  terra  firma 
proved  to  be  a  low  flat  sand  island,  upon  which  they 
found  enormous  heaps  of  unburied  human  bones, 
which  they  might  have  accepted  with  justice  as  an 
omen  of  the  fate  of  the  great  Gallic  enterprise  which 
they  were  now  initiating.  On  the  suggestion  of  the 
horrid  remains,  they  gave  to  this  their  first  land  the 
name  of  Massacre  Island. 

The  traveller  of  our  day,  ey^  route  for  l^ew  Orleans, 
quits  the  pleasant  little  city  of  Mobile,  and  after  a 
sail  of  thirty  miles  sees  rising  from  the  waters  of  the 
Gulf  this  low  desert  ridge,  which  now  bears  the 
name  of  Dauphine  Island.  Just  before  reaching  it, 
the  boat,  turning  sharp  to  the  light,  proceeds  through 
a  narrow  pass,  and  out  of  this  into  a  series  of  bays, 
lakes  and  passes,  defended  from  the  storms  of  the 
Gulf  by  a  low  chain  of  sandy  bulwarks,  and  at  length 
reaches  the  j)lacid  waters  of  Lake  Pontchartrain.  It 
was  uj)on  the  crystalline  sands  of  these  ridges  that 
our  adventurers  bivouacked  when  preparing  for  the 
subjugation  of  Louisiana;  first  on  Massacre  or  Dau 
phine  Island,  and  subsequentl}'  on  those  further  to 
the  West.  Later  they  crossed  to  the  main  land 
and  where  the  village  of  Biloxi  now  stands,  they 
built  a  fort  of  four  bastions  upon  which  were  mounted 


EXPLOKATION   OF   THE   MISSISSIPPI.  219 

twelve  guns  ;  and  over  wliicli  waved  tlie  lilies  of 
France  as  a  token  of  supremacy.  Impatient  to  dis- 
cover the  great  river,  wliicli  had  been  called  Kio 
Grande  by  de  Soto,  the  Eiver  of  the  Conception  by 
Marquette,  the  Colbert  by  La  Salle,  but  now  because 
it  seems  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  men,  the  Perdido, 
the  Lost,  D'Iberville  embarks  with  his  brother,  Bien- 
ville, a  youth  of  eighteen,  and  a  company  of  hardy 
adventurers,  in  open  boats,  leaving  Sauvolle  in  com- 
mand of  the  fort.  As  they  voyaged  towards  the  west, 
they  observed  that  the  blue  waters  of  the  Gulf  became 
discolored  and  turbid,  and  found  huge  trees  which 
had  been  uprooted  far  within  the  continent,  and  borne 
by  the  rushing  seething  tide  far  out  into  the  sea. 
These  tokens  apprise  them  that  they  are  near  the  river's 
mouth.  Before  long  they  reach  it,  but  D'Iberville 
cannot  believe  that  this  is  the  opening  of  the  majes- 
tic stream  of  which  he  has  heard  and  dreamed  so 
much.  Father  Anastase  Doua}^,  however,  a  priest 
who  had  been  here  with  La  Salle  at  the  time  of  his 
discovery,  avers  that  it  is.  As  they  toilsomely  ascend 
the  rapid  current,  they  discover  a  party  of  Indians  at 
the  mouth  of  the  Bayou  Goula,  who  have  carefully 
preserved  a  letter  left  there  fourteen  years  before  by 
Chevalier  Tonti,  La  Salle's  faithful  lieutenant,  and 
directed  to  his  master.  The  natives  also  show  the 
astonished  Frenchman  parts  of  a  coat  of  mail,  which 
had  probably  belonged  to  some  of  the  followers  of 


220  FRENCH   CHIVALRY   IN   THE    SOITTHWEST. 

De  Soto,  whose  party  bad  voyaged  this  way  a 
hundred  and  sixty  years  before.  All, doubt  is  thus 
removed  and  the  goal  at  length  is  reached.  They 
have  gained  their  river,  to  which  they  give  the  name 
of  St.  Louis  ;  bat  where  shall  they  build  their  town  ? 
Tlie  banks  of  the  stream,  for  many  a  league  from  the 
sea,  are  only  an  oozy  quagmire  ;  gloomy  forests  and 
tangled  brakes  cover  the  country  to  the  landward, 
far  as  the  eye  can  penetrate  ;  and  when  they  attempt 
to  land,  the  swamp  is  their  only  resting-place.  No 
rood  of  dry  firm  ground  seems  to  arise  within  this 
illimitable  morass.  They  return  to  Biloxi  and  finally 
resolve  to  build  their  metropolis  on  Mobile  Bay,  near 
tlie  ]3resent  site  of  the  city  of  that  name,  and  the 
infant  settlement  is  named  Fort  Conde. 

Our  adventurous  friends  have  come  to  found  anew 
empire,  not  with  the  plow  and  axe  and  loom,  not  with 
honest  toil  and  honorable  industry ;  but  they  will 
gather  the  lumps  of  gold  which,  as  they  fondly  ima- 
gine, strew  the  surface  of  the  earth  and  lie  imbedded 
within  its  de|)ths.  They  will  seek  the  priceless  pearis 
which  line  the  coast.  They  will  obtain  grants  of 
countless  acres  from  the  crown,  and  become  feudal 
barons  and  great  seigniors,  and  thus  will  they  erect 
their  state.  The  low  pine  barrens  which  constitute 
tlie  margin  of  the  Gulf,  on  which  they  have  settled, 
afford  no  chance  for  tillage  ;  and  were  the  land  rich 
as  alluvium  could  make  it,  they  would  disdain  the 


DISCOURAGEMENTS    OF   THE   COLONISTS.  221 

toil.  Thus,  all  their  supplies,  save  the  harvest  of  the 
waters,  must  be  brought  from  France.  But  the  voy- 
ages of  ships  are  uncertain  ;  and  ere  long  they  are 
threatened  with  famine.  Unused  to  the  broiling  sum- 
mer heats  of  these  low  latitudes,  they  are  soon  visited 
by  disease.  The  invisible  stealthy  form  of  bilious 
fever  emerges  from  the  swamps  and  lays  about  him 
like  a  giant  with  a  two-edged  sword.  That  hundred- 
handed  monster,  the  yellow  fever,  imported  from  the 
West  Indies,  stalks  amongst  the  defenceless  settlers, 
spreading  consternation  and  ruin,  until  hardly  enough 
living  are  left  to  bury  the  dead.  Sauvolle,  the  admir- 
al's brother,  a  fair  intrepid  youth,  is  amongst  the 
earliest  victims ;  and  before  six  years  are  passed 
D'Iberville  himself  is  sacrificed.  Alas  for  the  hopes 
of  chivalry  !  Neither  gold  nor  pearls  have  yet  been 
found.  The  colony  is  well-nigh  exterminated  by  dis- 
ease and  want,  and  must  have  perished  but  for  the 
compassionate  aid  of  friendly  Indian  neighbors. 

The  command  is  now  conferred  upon  Bienville,  on 
whose  wise  guidance  and  skillful  management  the 
hopes  of  the  future  empire  rest.  But  the  materials 
furnished  him  are  not  such  as  he  could  desire.  Recruits 
are  sent  to  him  by  shiploads  ;  insolvent  debtors  and 
men  of  broken  fortunes,  criminals  from  the  prisons 
and  abandoned  women.  The  most  wretched  and 
degraded  of  mankind  are  those  who  are  sent  to 
dig  the  foundations  and    lay  the   corner  stones  of 


222  FRENCH   CHIVALRY   IN   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

the  futui'e  edifice.  Witli  such  instruments  what  can 
even  a  great  man  like  Bienville  do  ?  He  is  sat- 
isfied that  the  dreams  about  gold  and  precious 
stones  are  idle  and  empty ;  that  the  true  hope  and 
welfare  of  the  colony  is  in  agriculture  ;  that  the  toil 
of  the  people  can  alone  yield  them  the  means  of  sub- 
sistence and  afford  them  the  materials  for  trade  ;  that 
the  labor  of  the  husbandman  and  the  mechanic  fur- 
nishes the  only  sure  basis  for  commerce  ;  and  that  their 
metropolis  must  be  built  npon  the  banks  of  the  great 
river,  so  as  to  command  by  a  practicable  and  easy 
highway  the  resources  of  the  whole  interior,  and  have 
opened  to  it  a  sure  and  immediate  communication 
with  Canada.  But  he  is  bafiied  and  disheartened  by 
his  filthy  and  worthless  coadjutors,  and  no  real  work 
is  accomplished.  Thirteen  years  have  passed,  a  hun- 
dred and  seventy  thousand  dollars  have  been  expend- 
ed and  the  results  are  unsatisfactory  enough.  Only 
two  hundred  and  eighty  settlers,  for  the  most  part 
idle  and  dissolute  vagrants,  among  whom  are  twenty 
domestic  negroes,  are  in  the  province.  The  king  and 
council  are  discouraged  ;  something  must  be  done  for 
Louisiana  ;  but  how,  or  what,  are  questions  hard  to 
settle.  At  this  time  there  is  in  Paris  a  great  mer- 
chant, one  Anthony  Crozat,  who  has  amassed  an  im- 
mense fortune  by  trade  and  speculation.  The  king 
offers  him  the  monopoly  of  the  country  flanked  on  its 
eastern  side  by  Florida  and  the  Alleghanies,  on  its  west- 


THE  FRENCH  CHARTER  RENOUNCED.       223 

ern  by  the  Rio  del  l!Torte  and  tlie  Rocky  Mountains, 
and  extending  from  Dauphine  Island  to  the  Lakes. 
He  shall  have  it  with  its  mines  and  minerals,  its  for- 
ests, game  and  peltries,  its  fisheries  and  agriculture. 
He  accepts  the  offer  ;  and  the  world  thinks  he  knows 
his  business,  and  predicts  for  him  a  splendid  result. 
La  Motte  Cadillac  is  governor  at  Detroit,  and  he 
becomes  Crozat's  partner.  Their  plan  is  to  open  trade 
between  France  and  the  West  India  Islands,  Mexico, 
and  Louisiana.  Thus  shall  gold  and  gems  be  gained. 
But  Spain  refuses  him  leave  to  trade  ;  declining  to 
allow  his  vessels  to  enter  any  of  her  ports ;  and  as 
for  Louisiana,  w^lip  is  there  to  buy  his  goods  ?  and 
there  is  no  merchandise  that  he  can  carry  thence. 
Thus  the  speculation  of  the  great  merchant  fails,  and 
at  the  end  of  ^Ye  years  he  surrenders  his  charter, 
having  paid  thirty  thousand  dollars  for  the  chance 
of  making  an  experiment.  But  there  are  others 
ready,  eager  to  accept  the  opportunity ;  confident 
that  there  is  wealth  in  Louisiana,  and  that  it  can  be 
obtained,  if  only  the  right  means  are  taken  to  get  it. 

The  mind  of  England  and  France  is  at  this  time 
possessed  of  a  mania  for  speculation. 

In  tlie  first  the  South  Sea  Company  is  offering  an 
ample  field  for  the  knavery  of  rogues  and  the  folly 
of  dupes ;  in  the  other,  John  Law,  a  canny  Scot, 
who  had  established  a  private  bank,  and  was  doing 
a  thi'iving  business,  assuming  the  style  and  position 


224  FRENCH    CHIYALET    IN   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

of  au  opulent  capitalist,  possessing  the  entii*e  confi- 
dence of  the  generous  but  profligate  regent,  Phi- 
lippe cF Orleans,  and  of  the  aristocracy  and  wealth 
throughout  the  country,  was  busily  engaged  in  organ- 
izing various  companies  and  schemes ;  a  bank  of 
France,  a  company  of  the  Indies,  and  a  western  com- 
pany. The  latter  procured  a  charter  of  twenty -five 
years  to  monopolize  Louisiana.  Its  stock  was  divided 
into  two  hundred  thousand  shares,  the  par  value  of 
which  was  five  hundi-ed  livres  each.  All  classes  of 
23eople  throughout  France  having  money,  are  stock- 
jobbers. The  bourse  opens  with  the  beat  of  drum. 
Abb^s,  bishops,  cardinals,  dukes,  ^*oyal  princes,  aud 
the  fairest  women  of  the  realm  throng  the  Exchange, 
and  vie  with  each  other  in  the  financial  competition. 
The  shares  of  the  Louisiana  speculation  are  greedily 
bought  up.  Maj^s  delineating  its  vastness,  illustrat- 
ing its  fertility  and  wealth ;  a  soil  richer  than  that  of 
the  Delta,  mountains  of  silver  richer  than  that  of 
Potosi,  and  of  gold,  with  which  the  laud  of  Ophir 
cannot  be  compared ;  picturing  prosperous  states  and 
private  towns,  quays  thronged  with  shipping  and 
busy  tradesmen ;  are  exhibited  in  Paris,  and  inflame 
the  already  excited  fancy  of  the  country.  It  is  whis- 
pered as  a  great  secret,  but  gains  a  wide  circulation, 
that  ingots  of  Louisiana  gold  have  been  seen  in  Paris, 
but  by  whom  no  one  pauses  to  inquire.  The  lust  for 
sudden  riches  has  deprived  the  people  of  their  com- 


THE  ASSIENTO   CONTRACT.  225 

mon  sense ;  and  tlie  infinite  wealth  of  the  Mississip- 
pi valley  is  believed  in  as  a  present  fact  by  the  noble 
brokers  and  bankei-s  of  France,  during  the  first  qnar- 
ter  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Active  measures  are 
at  once  set  on  foot  by  the  company  to  increase  the 
population  of  the  province.  They  enter  into  obliga- 
tion by  their  charter,  to  settle  six  thousand  whites 
and  three  thousand  African  slaves,  within  its  limits. 
The  pernicious  plan  of  sending  out  the  prostitute 
and  criminal  is  continued.  Street- walkers  and  wo- 
men from  the  hospitals  of  correction,  bankrupts, 
felons  whose  sentence  is  commuted  to  transporta- 
tion, are  to  become  the  agents  in  gaining  fabulous 
stores  of  wealth.  Others,  however,  of  more  reputa- 
ble character  are  sent ;  and  at  length  the  schemes 
of  emptying  the  filth  of  Paris  into  the  great  valley 
is  given  up.  Law  and  his  company  controlled  in 
Louisiana  the  exclusive  traffic  in  human  flesh,  as 
England  did  throughout  the  rest  of  the  ]N"ew  World. 
Britain  not  only  supplied  her  colonies  upon  the 
Atlantic  coast  with  slaves,  but  in  pursuance  of  her 
plans  of  ambitious  and  gigantic  monopoly,  gained 
by  the  treaty  of  Utrecht  the  sole  right  to  supply^ 
Spanish  America  with  Africans.  "'Her  Britan- 
nic Majesty  did  ofi*er  and  undertake,' "  quotes 
Bancroft  from  the  treaty  of  Utrecht,  "'by  per- 
sons whom  we  shall  appoint,  to  bring  into  the 
West  Indies  of  America,  belonging  to  His  Catholic 
10* 


226  FRENCH   CHIVALRY    EST   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

Majesty,  in  the  space  of  thirty  years,  a  hundred  and 
forty-four  thousand  negroes  at  the  rate  of  four  thous- 
and eight  hundred  in  each  of  the  said  thirty  years  ; 
paying  on  four  thousand  a  duty  of  thirty-three  and 
one-third  dollars  a  head.'  The  assientists  might 
introduce  as  many  more  as  they  pleased,  at  the  rate 
of  duty  of  sixteen  and  two-thirds  dollars  a  head. 
Only  no  scandal  was  to  be  offered  to  the  Eoman 
Catholic  religion  !  Exactest  care  was  taken  to  secure 
the  monopoly.  'No  Frenchman  nor  Spaniard,  nor  any 
other  person,  might  introduce  one  negro  slave  into 
Spanish  America.  For  the  Spanish  world  in  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico,  on  the  Atlantic,  and  along  the  Pacific,  as 
well  as  for  the  English  colonies,  her  Britannic  Ma- 
jesty, by  persons  of  her  appointment,  was  the  exclus- 
ive slave-trader.  England  extorted  the  privilege  of 
filling  the  Kew  World  with  negroes.  As  great  profits 
were  anticipated  from  the  trade,  Philip  Y.  of  Spain 
took  one  quarter  of  the  common  stock,  agreeing  to 
pay  for  it  by  a  stock  note  ;  Queen  Anne  reserved  to 
herself  another  quarter ;  and  the  remaining  moiety 
was  to  be  divided  among  her  subjects.  Thus  did 
the  sovereigns  of  England  and  Spain  become  the 
largest  slave-merchants  in  the  world." 

By  the  side  of  this  enormous  speculation  in  flesh 
and  blood.  Law's  was  dwarf-like.  Nevertheless,  the 
profits  derived  from  the  sale  of  the  negroes  were  one 
of  the    chief  sources   of  revenue   to  the   company's 


GOLD   UNSUCCESSFULLY    SOUGHT.  227 

coffers.  The  price  of  a  stout  negro  man  was  a  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars ;  that  of  a  healthy  woman,  a  hun- 
dred and  twenty-five  dollars.  It  was  subsequently 
raised  about  sixteen  per  cent,  l^or  was  the  perpetu- 
al bondage  of  the  African  the  only  style  of  slavery 
adopted.  Twenty-five  hundi-ed  Germans  of  the  Pal- 
atinate were  introduced  into  the  province,  who  were 
called  "  Kedemptioners."  They  were  bound  to  work 
as  slaves  for  three  years  in  the  service  of  those  who 
defrayed  their  expenses  across  the  deep.  Consider- 
able numbers  of  soldiers,  miners  and  assayers,  in 
addition,  were  sent ;  the  first  to  defend  the  colonists, 
and  the  others  to  discover  and  work  the  precious  ores. 
Lead,  iron,  copper,  without  end,  were  found  ;  but 
after  the  most  extensive  and  assiduous  search,  nei- 
ther gold  nor  silver.  Two  or  three  years  were 
devoted  hj  the  company's  servants  to  this  bootless 
quest ;  and  then,  at  last,  Bienville's  long-urged  pol- 
icy of  wringing  riches  from  the  soil  was  reluctantly 
adopted.  Meanwhile,  the  enterprising  governor  had 
established  a  fort  and  laid  the  foundations  of  a  town 
on  the  site  of  the  present  city  of  E'atchez,  giving  to 
it  the  name  of  Fort  Eosalie,  in  honor  of  the  Coun- 
tess Pontchartrain,  wife  of  the  French  Minister  of 
Marine,  D'Iberville's  friend  and  his  patron  in  the  col- 
onization of  Louisiana.  The  location  had  been 
selected  by  the  brave  admiral  twelve  years  before ; 
but  the  spot  was  too  far  distant  from  the  sea  to  per- 
mit it  to  become  the  capital ;  and  Bienville  was  still 


228  FEEXCH    CniYALRY    IN   THE    SOUTH-WEST. 

perplexed  in  his  attempt  to  discover  an  advantageous 
site  for  his  metropolis.  During  his  persevering  and 
diligent  explorations  for  this  object,  he  is  one  day 
busily  examining  the  muddy  boiling  stream  of  tlie 
Mississippi,  with  boats  and  sounding  lines,  when  sud- 
denly first  the  white  sails  of  a  large  ship,  and  then  the . 
unwelcome  ensign  of  St.  George  present  themselves 
to  his  vision,  slowly  moving  up  tlie  narrow  stream. 
It  is  a  British  corvette  of  twelve  guns.  Without  a 
moment's  hesitation,  the  bold  and  quick-witted 
Frenchman  hails  her ;  finds  that  Captain  Barr  is  in 
command  ;  that  her  consort  is  in  waiting  at  the  river's 
mouth  ;  and  that  he  is  upon  the  errand  of  planting 
an  English  colony  in  those  parts.  Bienville  imme- 
diately advises  him  that  he  is  within  the  dominions 
of  the  King  of  France,  that  he  must  forthwith  get 
out  of  them ;  and  that  unless  he  does,  he^  Bienville 
will  use  the  ample  means  within  his  command  at  the 
French  fortifications  a  little  way  above,  to  make  him. 
He  volunteers  likewise  the  valuable  piece  of  geogra- 
phical information,  that  Captain  Barr  is  in  the  wrong 
river ;  for  that  the  Mississippi  is  much  further  West. 
The  thick-headed  Englishman  is  at  a  stand,  seemingly 
more  fearful  of  Bienville's  castle  in  the  air,  than  con- 
fident in  his  directions;  he  grumbles,  and  asserts  that 
the  British  liad  discovered  the  river  half  a  century 
before,  and  that  he  will  come  back  with  force  enough 
to  substantiate  the  claim  by  seizure.     JJe  turns  about, 


FOTJNDATION    OF   NEW   ORLEANS.  229 

however,  for  the  present,  and  departs ;  doubtless, 
leaving  the  cunning  Gauls  in  great  merriment ;  but 
does  not  come  back,  and  the  place  of  this  effectual 
deceit  is  yet  named  the  English  Turn. 

Descending  the  river  in  another  of  his  many  ex- 
peditions, Bienville  noted  a  bend   in  the  tortuous 
stream,  which  assumed  the  shape  of  a  crescent.     Ex- 
amining the  land  upon  its  margin,  he  resolved  that 
notwithstanding  its    unpropitious    appearance,  here 
should  his    town    be    built.     Staking   the   spot,  he 
returned  to  Mobile  and  dispatched  thence  fifty  con- 
victs for  the  purpose  of  clearing  the  groimd  of  the 
forest  undergrowth.     The  task  was  a  Herculean  one  ; 
the  means  at  Bienville's  command  to  carry  it  forward 
were  small ;  and,  moreover,  the  project  was  uncompro- 
misingly opposed  by  his  associates  in  the  government. 
^Nevertheless,  his  will  was  irresistible,  and  all  obstacles 
at  length  yielded.     By  the  year  1723,  five  years  after 
the  work  had  begun,  a  thriving  and  prosperous  town 
appeared  from  out  the  tangled  cane-brake,  overshad- 
owed by  the  funereal  forest  of  the  cypress  swamp, 
and  washed  upon  its  southern  edge   by  the  yellow 
current  of  the  great  river.     He  named  the  place  in 
honor  of  a  prince  who  "forgot  God,  and  trembled 
at    a    star" — the    reckless    regent.   Due   d'Orleans. 
The   experience  of  a  century  and  a  quarter  has  set 
its  seal  on  the  sagacity  of  its  founder.     The  village, 
a  site  for  which  he  struggled  so  hard  and  so  long 
to  find,  to  build  which  cost   him  so  many  manful 


230  FRENCH   CHIVALKY   IN   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

efforts,  has  grown  to  be  the  second  commercial  centre 
of  the  'New  World.     Its  exports  in  any  given  year  are 
now  greater  than  those  from  the  whole  East  Indian 
empire.     It  is  the  entrepot  from  the  sea  for  a  realm 
well-nigh  as  wide  as  the  whole  vast  expanse  of  Hin- 
dostan.     But  while  Britain  derived  from  the  slave 
trade  the  means  to  build  np  her  empire  in  the  East,  and 
thus  again  acquired  boundless  wealth  and  commercial 
prosperity  for  herself,  France  gained  nothing*  from 
her  effort  to  establish  feudalism  in  the  wilderness,  but 
loss,  disaster  and  defeat.     The  city  of  JSTew  Orleans, 
founded  by  Bienville,  seems  to  have  perpetuated  in 
its  history  the  characteristic  traits  of  the  man  from 
whom  it  was    named.      Tliere,   dissoluteness   walks 
brazen-fronted  and  unchecked  ;  and  by  its  side  the 
divine  figure  of  generosity.    ISTowhere  in  this  country 
is  vice  so  rampant,  and  sin  so  unblushingly  exposed. 
Nowhere  are  men  so  openly  eager  in  the  pursuit  of 
interdicted  aims,  and  so  reckless  as  to  the  methods  of 
attaining  them.     Yet  when  the  fearful  figure  of  the 
plague  casts  his  dark   shadow  over  the   swamp-en- 
girdled town,  when  the  pestilence  walketh  in  dark- 
ness, and  the  destruction  wasteth  at  noon-day,  when 
it  may  be  said  almost  without  exaggeration  that  a 
thousand  fall  at  your  side  and  ten  thousand  at  your 
right  hand,  the  bravo,  the  gambler,  and  the  debau- 
chee, forget  their   trades   of   crime  ;  the   merchant, 
banker,  and  artisan  quit  their  occupations  ;  the  gay, 


DEVELOPMENT   OF   INTERNAL  KESOUKCES.  231 

frivolous  and  worldly  leave  their  mirth  and  wine,  and 
all  are  found  rivalling  and  sometimes  surpassing  the 
self-devotion  of  the  priest  and  the  physician ;  minis- 
tering angels  in  the  houses  of  woe,  carrying  bread, 
wine,  and  medicine  to  the  hovels  of  the  poor,  bending 
over  their  inmates  with  inexpressible  solicitude,  and 
nursing  them  through  lonely  vigils  with  a  mother's 
care  and  tenderness.  IS^owhere  are  money  and  life 
so  wildly  squandered ;  yet  nowhere  is  wealth  so 
bountifully  bestowed  in  charity ;  or  love  and  life  so 
freely  given  at  the  call  of  suffering. 

The  best  portion  of  the  inhabitants  of  Louisiana 
were  as  yet  derived  from  Canada.  These  hardy  emi- 
grants, trained  by  solitude,  rigor,  and  hardship,  to 
frugality,  enterprise  and  virtue,  became  the  most 
thrifty  aud  reliable  members  of  the  new  State.  Their 
only  property,  their  coarse  garments,  a  knapsack  and 
staff,  they  yet  possess  indomitable  courage  and  reso- 
lution, and  willingness  to  labor.  Plantations  are 
opened  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi,  above  and 
below  the  new  city,  in  the  environs  of  Fort  Eosalie, 
in  the  Eed,  Yazoo,  and  Arkansas  Rivers.  Eice, 
tobacco,  and  indigo,  are  successfully  cultivated. 
The  fig  is  transplanted  from  Provence,  and  the  orange 
from  Hispaniola.  Neat  cottages  and  pretty  gardens 
cause  the  wilderness  to  bloom  in  many  a  spot,  and 
all  wears  the  golden  hue  of  promise  and  success. 
Moreover,  a  thriving  trade  is  opened  with  the  coun- 


FRENCH   CHIVALRY   IN   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

tries  of  the  Illinois  and  "Wabasli.  Lumber,  tallow, 
beeswax,  bacon,  bides,  peltries,  are  received  from 
these  middle  regions  and  shipped  again  to  France. 
Coureurs  die  lols  and  voyageiirs  ascend  the  Missis- 
sippi and  its  tributaries  to  tbeir  sources,  discover 
hundreds  of  mines  of  gold  and  silver,  which  always 
prove  to  be  copper  and  lead ;  smoke  the  calumet,  ne- 
gotiate treaties  of  peace  and  amity  wath  the  distant 
aborigines,  and  return  with  such  stores  as  they  have 
gathered  in  traffic,  their  memories  overrunning  with 
stirring  and  marvellous  stories,  the  product  of  their 
fancies  and  adventures,  more  pleasing  to  their  gos- 
sips and  neighbors  than  their  substantial  gains. 

Nor  are  the  spiritual  interests  of  the  people  overlook- 
ed. AnUrsuline  convent  has  been  established  in  Xew 
Orleans ;  churches  are  built  in  every  village,  missiona 
established  in  every  settlement ;  and  Jesuits  go  where- 
ever  the  hardy  trader  ventures,  doing  their  utmost  to 
convert  the  red  savages  from  their  heathenism.  The 
indefatigable  Bienville,  dreading  the  approach  of  the 
English  and  their  traffic  with  the  Indians  on  the  north- 
east, builds  Fort  Toulouse,  near  the  spot  where  the 
limpid  waters  of  the  Coosa  and  Tallapoosa  form  the 
Alabama.  Farther  to  the  West,  on  the  river  wliich 
bears  the  name,  he  erects  Fort  Tombigbee.  ^N'o  sooner 
does  he  receive  the  news  that  war  has  been  declared 
between  France  and  Spain,  than  he  crosses  from  Mo- 
bile, captures  Pensacola,  blows  up  the  forts,  and  leaves 


COLLISIONS  BETWEEN  THE   FRENCH   AND   SPANISH.    233 

the  town  in  ashes.  x\s  the  Spaniards  by  their  advance 
from  Mexico,  are  threatening  his  western  boundaries, 
having  built  San  Antonio  de  Bexar,  and  fortified 
Goliad,  and  even  now  having  their  out-posts  upon 
Trinity  River,  he  sends  the  doughty  De  La  Harpe  to 
protect  his  frontier,  and  stay  the  progress  of  the  invad- 
ers, by  building  the  town  of  Katchitoches,  and  esta- 
blishing posts  on  the  upper  waters  of  the  Red  River. 

Between  the  intrepid  Gaul  and  the  polite  Castilian 
in  command  of  his  Spanish  Majesty's  troops  upon  these 
borders,  there  ensued  a  short  and  spirited  correspon- 
dence, the  substance  of  which  I  here  lay  before  you. 
The  Spanish  commandant  addressed  De  La  Harpe  as 
follows : 

*'  Monsieur  :  I  am  very  sensible  of  the  politeness  that  Monsieur 
De  Bienville  and  yourself  have  had  the  goodness  to  show  me.  The 
order  I  have  received  from  the  king  my  master  is,  to  maintain  a 
good  understanding  with  the  French  of  Louisiana.  My  own  inclina- 
tions lead  me  equally  to  afford  them  all  the  services  that  depend  upon 
me,  but  I  am  compelled  to  say  that  your  arrival  at  the  Nassonite  vil- 
lage surprises  me  very  much.  Your  government  could  not  have  been 
ignorant  that  the  post  you  occupy  belongs  to  my  government ;  and 
that  all  the  lands  west  of  the  Nassonites  depend  upon  Xew  Mexico.  I 
recommend  you  to  give  advice  of  this  to  Monsieur  De  Bienville,  or 
you  will  force  me  to  oblige  you  to  abandon  lands  that  the  French  have 

no  right  to  occupy.     I  have  the  honor  to  be,  sir, 

"  De  La  Corne." 

To  these  compliments  and  threats  De  La  Harpe  an- 
swered, denying  the  correctness  of  the  representations 


234  FRENCH   CHIYALET    IN   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

made  by  the  Spaniard,  asserting  the  right  of  the  French 
to  maintain  themselves  where  he  was  then  in  position, 
and  ending  with  the  following  pithy  phrases : — 

"  It  was  the  French  who  first  made  alliances  with  the  savage  tribes 
in  these  regions  ;  and  it  is  natural  to  conclude  that  a  river  which  flows 
into  the  Mississippi  and  the  lands  it  waters,  belong  to  the  king  my 
master.  If  you  will  do  me  the  pleasure  to  come  into  this  quarter, 
I  will  convince  you  that  I  hold  a  post^  which  I  know  how  to  defend. 
I  have  the  honor  to  be,  sir, 

"De  La  Harpe." 

The  Spanish  commander  discreetly  refrained  from 
any  attempt  to  make  good  his  threats ;  both  French 
and  Spaniards  maintained  their  advanced  posts,  the 
nearest  being  only  nine  miles  apart;  and  their  con- 
flicting claims  were  only  merged  in  the  cession  to 
Spain,  1762. 

The  indefatigable  Bienville,  not  satisfied  with 
guiding  the  interior  concerns  of  his  favorite  colony, 
with  infinite  negotiations  and  intrigues,  supported 
where  necessary  with  unscrupulous  violence,  among 
the  various  Indian  tribes  of  the  Muscogee  confede- 
racy, the  Katchez  and  those  west  of  the  Mississipj)i 
River,  had  in  view  the  accomplishment  of  a  vast 
scheme  for  the  establishment  of  the  French  authority 
in  Louisiana  upon  an  impregnable  basis.  In  the 
year  1723,  after  many  eiforts,  he  succeeded  in  causing 
the  transfer  of  the  seat  of  government  from  the  hope- 
less sand-beach  at  Biloxi  to  his  settlement  of  Xew 


GKADTJAL    GEOWTH   OF   THE   COLONY.  235 

Orleans,  where  by  natural  gravitation,  inhabitants, 
wealth  and  trade  were  rapidly  accumulating.  A 
survey  of  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi  having  been 
made,  the  commercial  capacities  of  the  port  were 
demonstrated.  An  advantageous  centre  of  operations 
thus  gained,  almost  simultaneous  enterprises  were 
undertaken  to  establish  at  the  margin  of  an  immense 
circle  of  territory  such  forts  and  settlements  as  should 
secure  the  colony  against  the  Spaniards  to  the  west, 
northwest,  and  east,  and  the  English  in  Carolina  to  the 
northeast,  and  at  the  same  time  open  and  protect  a 
sure  communication  with  the  distant  sister  settlements 
in  Canada.  Bernard  La  Harpe,  as  we  have  seen,  had 
already  fortiJ&ed  himself  upon  the  Red  Hiver.  An 
attempt  was  made,  unsuccessfully,  however,  to  plant 
a  fort  upon  the  Texan  coast,  near  the  mouth  of  the 
Colorado ;  Le  Sueur  established  a  fort  at  a  point 
estimated  to  be  two  thousand  two  hundred  and  eighty 
miles  from  the  sea,  among  the  Sioux,  upon  the  Blue 
Earth  River,  a  branch  of  the  St.  Peter's,  which  joins 
the  Mississippi.  Boisbriant  erected  the  celebrated 
French  stronghold  of  Fort  Chartres,  in  the  Illinois 
country.  Fort  Conde  in  Mobile  Bay,  Fort  St.  Louis 
in  Biloxi  Bay,  and  Fort  Toulouse  at  the  head  of 
navigation  in  the  Alabama  River,  all  newly  stored, 
fortified  and  garrisoned,  completed  the  series  of  main 
points  upon  this  immense  semicircle ;  while  the  outer 
line  and  the  radii  to  the  centre  were  made  good  by 


236  FEENCH   CHIYALRT   IN   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

numerous  trading-posts,  and  rapid  and  constant  com- 
munication was  maintained  on  foot  and  in  canoes,  by 
traders,  detacliments  of  troops,  official  parties,  priests 
and  travellers. 

In  S2)ite  of  the  continued  disaj^pointments  of  the 
expectations  of  enormous  revenue  on  the  part  of  the 
Western  Company  at  home,  in  spite  of  want  and 
misery  amongst  improvident  emigrants,  as  well  as 
even  amongst  the  troops  and  settlers,  in  spite  of 
endless  bickerings  and  pecuniary  mismanagements 
between  jealous  and  greedy  colonial  officials,  of  the 
excessive  waste  of  strength,  time,  men  and  money  in 
premature  exjjeditions  to  distant  wildernesses,  and  of 
the  occasional  murmurs  and  discontents  discovered 
now  in  one  Indian  tribe  and  now  in  another,  the  pro- 
gress of  the  colony  on  the  whole  was  sure  and  onward. 

But  now  the  bursting  of  the  fantastic  bubble  with 
whose  gaudy  hues  John  Law  had  so  long  fooled  all 
France,  gives  a  terrible  blow  to  the  struggling  young 
commonwealth.  Already  the  company  have  expend- 
ed more  than  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
dollars,  without  any  equivalent  receipts.  With  great 
difficulty  they  have  from  time  to  time  continued  to 
send  uncertain  shipments  of  supplies,  and  to  maintain 
their  various  establishments.  But  tlie  utter  prostra- 
tion of  business  which  the  destruction  of  the  value  of 
Law's  fictitious  money  brings  upon  the  province,  holds 
the  knife  at  the  throat  of  the  settlements.     Every 


SUFFEEINGS   OF  THE  COLONISTS.  237 

man  is  loaded  with  debts  incurred  during  the  fatal 
delusion,  and  reckoned  in  paper  money,  which  is  now 
almost  utterly  worthless.  Liexorable  creditoi'S,  them- 
selves hard  pressed  by  their  obligations,  demand  pay- 
ment in  silver,  which  does  not  exist  in  the  province. 
The  difficulty  is  partly  evaded  by  despotically 
doctoring  the  currency,  so  as  to  allow  the  dollar, 
worth  four  livres^  to  pay  seven  and  a  half  livres  of 
debt,  and  re-establishing  its  former  value  ten  months 
afterwards.  But  business  is  at  a  dead  stand,  and  the 
land  is  full  of  discouraged,  clamorous,  starving  set- 
tlers ;  for  the  supplies  from  France  have  ceased,  and 
the  undeveloped  agriculture  of  the  little  farms 
does  not  suffice  to  give  them  bread.  The  soldiers  are 
dispersed  amongst  the  friendly  Indians  for  food,  and 
several  large  bodies  of  them  mutiny  and  flee  to  the 
English,  or  are  barbarously  punished.  The  Germans 
established  upon  Law's  own  colony  on  the  Arkansas 
River,  abandoned  and  distressed,  return  en  masse 
to  Xew  Orleans,  intending  to  seek  again  their  Euro- 
pean homes.  To  avoid  the  pernicious  effect  of  such 
an  example,  however,  new  grants  of  land  close  along 
the  river,  are  made  them,  about  twenty  miles  above 
that  city.  Their  skillful  industry  soon  changes  the 
wilderness  into  gardens;  and  the  "German  coast" 
as  it  is  yet  called,  long  supplies  the  market  of  the 
little  capital  with  all  manner  of  delicious  fruit  and 
vegetables. 


238  FKENCH   CHIYALEY   IN   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

The  TTi-ath  of  Heaven  seemed  to  join  with  the  folly 
of  man  to  afflict  Louisiana.  A  terrific  equinoctial 
tornado,  in  September,  1723,  devastated  all  the  south- 
ern portion  of  the  province.  At  New  Orleans  the 
fearful  blast  levelled  the  church,  the  hospital  and 
thirty  dwelling-houses.  Several  vessels  were  de- 
stroyed ;  the  crops  of  rice,  just  maturing,  were  swept 
olf ;  farm-houses  were  blown  down,  and  infinite  in- 
jury done  to  plantations  and  improvements.  This 
frightful  calamity  augmented  both  the  famine  and 
the  discouragement ;  and  dark  indeed  seemed  the 
horizon  of  the  future. 

Bienville,  however,  unmoved  as  a  rock,  still  held 
the  helm  of  government,  and  his  strong  will,  vigor- 
ous administrative  talent,  and  marvellous  energy 
were  felt  throughout  every  portion  of  the  province. 
In  spite  of  these  multiplied  misfortunes  he  perse- 
vered ;  and  during  the  years  immediately  following, 
the  colony  gradually  revived  to  something  of  pros- 
perity, both  in  agriculture  and  in  trade,  and  increased 
in  population  and  wealth.  In  the  midst  of  this  happi- 
ness, Bienville's  enemies,  who  had  long  and  relent- 
lessly pursued  him  with  slanderous  dispatches,  sent 
to  France,  and  with  all  manner  of  insults  and  maclii- 
nations  within  the  colony,  at  last  succeeded  in  pro- 
curing his  recall  to  answer  charges  of  misconduct. 
Notwithstanding  his  explorations,  the  labors  of  a 
quarter  of  a  century,  and  their  promising  results,  he 


COLLISIONS    WITH    THE    INDIANS.  239 

was  removed,  and  many  of  his  friends  with  him  ;  and 
tlie  governorship  bestowed  npon  M.  Perrier.  Dis- 
gusted with  this  usual  return  for  faithful  public  ser- 
vices, Bienville  remained  in  France  in  a  private 
station. 

For  two  years  after  the  departure  of  Bienville, 
"  the  Father  of  Louisiana,"  the  colony  continued  to 
increase  and  prosper  nnder  the  authority  of  M. 
Perrier,  his  successor.  But  in  1729  a  more  fearful 
disaster  than  tornado  or  banla'uptcy  again  came  like 
a  thunderbolt  upon  the  hapless  settlers ;  a  disaster 
the  more  wretched,  because  it  was  the  reaction  of  the 
fiendish  passions  of  barbarians,  roused  into  the  most 
ungovernable  rage  by  the  wicked  and  tyrannical  folly 
of  the  victims  themselves. 

The  Natchez  Indians,  formerly  a  powerful  nation, 
but  now  reduced  by  wars  to  a  fighting  force  of  about 
twelve  hundred  men,  occupied  the  neighborhood  of 
the  present  city  of  J^atchez,  named  after  them.  Tall, 
strong,  and  active,  of  uncommon  intellectual  power, 
indicated  by  the  high  retreating  forehead  which  was  a 
peculiarity  of  the  tribe,  the  JSTatchez  exerted  a  power- 
ful influence  over  the  nations  near  them.  They  were, 
for  savages,  peaceful  and  industrious  when  undisturb- 
ed ;  but  capable  of  the  most  enduring  resentment,  and 
bitter  and  active  enemies,  in  revenge  for  an  injury. 
After  a  fashion  quite  the  reverse  of  the  usual  conduct 
of  Frenchmen   towards  savages,  Bienville   and  the 


24:0  FRENCH   CHIYALRT   m   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

Other  French  of  Louisiana  had  been  harassed  with 
continual  quarrels  with  the  Indians,  seemingly  caused 
by  haughty  and  unscrupulous  maltreatment  from  the 
Europeans.  Although  the  Katchez  had  received 
D'Iberville  with  respect  and  kindness,  yet  his  brother 
Bienville,  a  man  of  strong  and  imperious'  will,  had,  as 
early  as  1716,  showed  great  harshness  in  settling  a 
quarrel  between  the  small  garrison  of  Fort  Eosalie, 
and  the  neighboring  savages.  Again,  in  1T23,  a 
more  serious  outbreak  occurred.  By  the  causeless 
violence  of  some  French  soldiers,  one  warrior  was 
killed,  and  another  wounded  ;  the  savages,  in  reveiigf^, 
waylaid,  robbed,  and  murdered  along  the  frontier ; 
and  at  length  a  war  party  of  eighty  made  an  open 
attack  upon  the  settlements.  The  assailants  were  re- 
pulsed, but  not  before  two  planters  were  slain,  and 
many  depredations  committed.  The  chief  "  Suns,"  as 
they  were  called,  of  the  tribe,  hastened,  however,  to 
secure  a  peace,  by  treating  with  the  commandant  of 
the  fort.  Bienville  now  coming  on  to  tlie  post,  ratified 
•the  agreement,  and  departed  in  apparent  friendship. 
But  with  a  duplicity  and  ferocity  far  more  shameful 
than  that  of  these  ignorant  children  of  the  foi-est,  he 
fell  suddenly  upon  them,  seven  months  afterwards, 
with  seven  hundred  troops,  ravaged  their  country-  with 
fire  and  sAvord,  mercilessly  destroyed  men,  women  and 
children,  and  sternly  insisted  that  they  should  buy  a 
peace  by  delivering  to  death   one   of  their  sacred 


FRENCH    OUTEAGES.  241 

chieftains,  the  Suns.  The  horrified  but  helpless  In- 
dians offered  several  common  warriors  to  death, 
instead ;  two  successively  devoting  themselves  were 
slain,  and  their  heads  offered  to  Bienville.  But  the 
inexorable  Frenchman  persisting,  at  last  succeeded 
in  forcing  the  sacrifice,  and  thus  having  exacted  his 
own  measure  of  punishment  for  deeds  provoked  by 
his  fellow  Frenchmen,  and  having  chosen  in  doing  it 
to  violate  every  feeling  and  passion  of  their  savage 
hearts,  he  returned  home  in  ruthless  triumph.  The 
unfortunate  Natchez,  now  despairing  of  any  reliable 
amity  with  the  French,  repaid  for  kindness  with  the 
most  bitter  insult  and  with  irreparable  injuries,  and 
seeing  the  power  and  the  tyranny  of  their  foes 
increase  together,  in  cautious  silence  began  to  plot 
revenge,  and  nurtured  their  schemes  for  six  years, 
finally  to  be  developed  by  the  attempt  to  crown  the 
long  course  of  injuries  by  another  gratuitous  oppres- 
sion, threatened  by  a  subaltern  against  the  nation. 

Chopart,  the  brutal  commandant  at  Fort  Rosalie, 
had  long  been  the  object  of  peculiar  hatred  to  the 
tribe  ;  and  between  him  and  them  there  had  long  been 
going  on  an  exchange  of  bitter  injuries.  Having 
been  once  even  cited  to  l^ew  Orleans  to  answer  to 
the  complaints  against  him  laid  before  M.  Perrier  by 
the  ]^atchez  chiefs,  he  managed  to  maintain  himself  in 
his  command,  and  returning  to  his  post  gratified  his  re- 
vengeful anger  by  contriving  new  and  elaborate  insults. 

11 


242  FRENCH   CHIVALKT    IN   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

About  three  leagues  from  the  fort,  upon  an  exten- 
sive and  fertile  level,  stood  the  village  of  the  White 
Apple  Chief,  a  Sun  of  the  Katchez  tribe.  In  the 
open  sunny  plain,  humble  and  happy  homes  were 
scattered  here  and  there  amongst  the  wide  fields 
of  corn,  pumpkins  and  beans,  and  in  the  midst, 
upon  an  artificial  mound,  and  near  a  rivulet, 
stood  the  sacred  abode  of  the  Grand  Sun.  Here, 
from  time  immemorial^  generation  after  generation 
had  lived,  loved  and  died ;  around  this  happy  spot 
clustered  all  the  associations  sacred  to  their  family, 
their  nation,  their  religion. 

The  wrathful  amazement  of  the  chief  cannot  be 
pictured,  upon  being  rudely  summoned  to  the  pres- 
ence of  the  brutal  commander,  and  coolly  informed 
that  he  and  his  nation  must  forthwith  remove  their 
habitations  to  some  other  spot,  and  permit  their 
sprouting  crops  to  be  laid  waste.  Ch opart  pretended 
that  he  needed  the  ground  for  a  military  post ;  his 
intention  was,  at  the  ^ame  time  to  gratify  his  insane 
enmity  against  the  Indians,  and  to  lay  out  a  magnifi- 
cent plantation  for  himself  upon  the  ruins  of  their 
dwellings.  Gravely  hiding  his  emotion,  after  the 
decorous  savage  manner,  the  Sun  replies,  that "  their 
fathers  for  many  years  have  occupied  that  ground, 
and  it  is  good  for  their  children  still  to  remain  on  the 
same."  The  military  tyrant  threatens  violence;  and- 
the  chief  calls  his  council  together  to  determine  upon 


MASSACRE  AT  FORT  ROSALIE.  243 

the  proper  action  in  the  case.  Further  forbearance 
was  decided  upon,  and  a  tribute  of  a  basket  of  corn 
and  a  hen  for  each  cabin  being  promised,  Chopart  is 
bribed  thereby  to  postpone  the  day  of  destruction 
until  the  young  crops  shall  have  been  gathered  in. 
But  as  the  time  for  destroying  the  village  approaches, 
the  smothered  flame  of  savage  indignation  burns, 
quietly  still,  but  hotter  and  hotter.  In  secret  council 
the  chiefs  of  the  Natchez  resolve  upon  revenging 
their  cruel  wrongs,  and  securing  themselves  for  the 
future,  by  exterminating  the  whole  colony  ;  killing 
men  and  enslaving  women  and  children.  The  secret 
is  confined  to  the  chiefs  and  warriors.  Eunners  sent 
out  in  every  direction  advise  the  confederate  tribes ; 
the  indomitable  and  ferocious  Chickasaws  to  the  north, 
the  northern  affiliated  bands  of  their  Natchez  kins- 
men, the  Creeks  *to  the  east,  and  to  the  west,  the 
nearly  related  tribe  of  the  Tensas,  that  the  time  is 
at  hand  for  the  execution  of  the  design,  which  to- 
gether they  have  so  faithfully  guarded  from  suspicion, 
and  for  whose  opportunity  they  have  waited  with 
such  untiring  patience,  for  six  long  years.  Bundles  of 
reeds,  equal  in  number,  are  distributed  to  all  the  vil- 
lages. Beginning  with  the  next  new  moon,  a  reed  is 
daily  to  be  withdrawn  ;  and  upon  the  day  when  the 
last  is  taken,  the  attack  is  to  be  made.  Chopart  and 
the  garrison  receive  repeated  intimations  of  the 
approaching  danger,  but  the  tyrant's  heart  is  hard- 


244:  FEENCH   CHIVALRY    IN   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

eiied — he  grows  even  more  careless  of  defence  or  cir- 
cumspection, and  meets  the  messengers  with  violent 
threats  for  their  pains. 

By  some  error  not  sufficiently  explained,  the  IsTat- 
chez  bundle  of  reeds  was  exhausted  too  soon.  A 
day  or  two  before  the  proper  time,  then,  the  I^atchez 
having  learned  that  a  large  supply  of  ammunition 
has  just  reached  Fort  Kosalie,  conceal  weapons  within 
their  dress,  and  gradually  insinuating  themselves  in 
considerable  numbers  within  the  fort,  they  chaffer 
for  powder  and  ball,  which  they  say  they  need  for  a 
great  hunting  match  about  to  come  off;  and  they 
offer  uncommonly  good  bargains  in  poultry  and  corn. 
Utterly  unsuspicious,  the  French  eagerly  take  the 
usual  white  man's  advantage  of  the  simple  savage,  and 
bargain  hard.  In  the  bustle  of  the  sales,  the  number  of 
red  men  who  have  distributed  themselves  dispersedly 
all  about  the  buildings  is  unnoticed.  But  suddenly 
every  Irightened  Frenchman  sees  the  wild  light  of  sav- 
fury  flame  out  of  the  Indian's  dark  eyes.  The  Great 
Sun  has  given  the  appointed  signal ;  and  before  he 
can  grasp  a  weapon,  almost  before  he  can  cry  out, 
the  wretched  victim  is  struck  down,  brained,  thrust 
through.  Like  banded  fiends  risen  through  the  earth, 
the  red  devils  strike  all  together ;  and  where  but  one 
moment  before  the  purlieus  of  the  fort  were  scattered 
over  with  laughing  or  scolding  couples,  groaning,  writh- 
ing men,  lie  in  their  gore  here  and  there,  and  the  wild 


EXTERMINATION    OF   THE    GAERISON.  24:5 

men  of  tlie  forest,  drunk  witli  the  mad  joy  of  assured 
success,  chase  hither  and  thither  the  screaming  sur- 
vivors, and  pitilessly  slay  them  in  their  hiding-places. 
Chopart  himself,  the  scoundrel  and  tyrant  who  had 
caused  the  deed,  was  strnck  down  among  the  first. 
Tradition  says  that  he  revived  again,  as  if  doomed  by 
God  to  behold  the  fruits  of  his  mad  folly ;  and  rising 
up  wounded  and  bloody,  amid  the  bloody  corpses  of 
his  men,  he  looked  ronnd  him  upon  the  horrors  of  the 
massacre ;  and  at  last,  probably  still  confused  with 
his  wounds  and  the  dreadful  surprise,  instead  of 
standing  on  his  defence,  fled  out  into  the  garden, 
and  whistled  to  call  his  soldiers.  They  could  not 
answer;  he  might  have  seen  them  lying  dead  all 
around  him.  The  Indians  come,  however,  at  his 
signal,  and  gather  about  their  helpless,  hated  oppressor 
with  unutterable  rage  and  exultation  on  their  swarthy 
faces.  They  ring  him  in  with  weaj)ons  and  exult 
about  him.  They  say  he  is  a  "  dog  ;"  unworthy  to  be 
slain  by  a  brave  man  :  and  so  they  send  for  a  minister 
to  some  degrading  heathen  ceremony,  whom  the 
early  writer,  calls  the  "  chief  stinking-man."  This 
base  executioner  kills  him  with  a  dog's  blow ;  he 
knocks  him  in  the  head  with  a  club ;  and  thus  did 
the  wicked  commandant,  the  first  and  the  last  of  the 
slain,  taste,  in  dreadful  measure,  the  fullness  of  the 
bitterness  of  death. 

During  the  massacre,  the  Great  Sun,  seating  him- 


24:6  FRENCH   CHITALRY   IN   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

self  in  the  Company's  warehouse,  quietly  smoked  his 
pipe ;  while  his  warriors  heaped  before  him  in  a 
frightful  pyramid  the  heads  of  the  slain.  The 
gliastly  pile  is  crowned  with  the  dead  features  of  the 
officers,  and  surmounted  with  the  bloody  visage  of 
Chopart  himself.  The  garrison  is  dead,  the  women, 
children  and  slaves  are  secured,  and  now  the  chief- 
tain bids  his  warriors  go  to  plunder.  The  slaves  are 
made  to  bring  out  the  spoil  for  distribution  ;  the 
military  stores  are  reserved  for  public  use ;  and  the 
victorious  Indians  give  themselves  up  to  orgies  of 
savage  triumph. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  attack,  the  houses  near  the 
fort  were  fired,  and  the  smoke  signalled  the  assault 
throughout  the  neighboring  settlements.  All  were 
alike  successfuL  The  massacre  began  about  nine  in 
the  morning.  Before  noon,  two  hundred  and  fifty 
French,  every  male  of  the  colony  of  seven  hundred 
souls  on  the  St.  Catherine's,  except  a  tailor  and  a 
carpenter,  spared  to  use  their  handicrafts  for  the  In- 
dians, and  two  soldiers  who  were  away  in  the  woods, 
slept  in  death.  The  like  fate  fell  upon  the  colonies  in 
the  Yazoo,  on  the  "Washita  at  Sicily  Island,  and  near 
the  site  of  the  present  town  of  Monroe. 

This  dreadful  blow  filled  the  province  with  fear 
and  mourning.  But  the  revenge  of  tlie  Frenchmen 
only  ended  with  the  utter  extermination  of  the  tribe. 
An  expedition  was  sent  at  once  against  them,  their 


RETALIATION  BY  THE  FEENCH.         247 

fortress  besieged,  their  prisoners  and  spoil  wrested 
from  tbem,  and  the  nation  only  by  a  dexterous  man- 
oeuvre, evacuated  the  stronghold  by  night,  and  fled 
away  to  the  westward.  A  second  expedition  ended 
in  the  reduction  of  a  second  fortress,  defended  by 
enormous  earthworks  and  embracing  foui-  hundred 
acres,  which  they  had  erected  at  the  confluence 
of  the  Washita  and  Little  Rivers,  and  in  the  captiv- 
ity of  their  principal  chiefs  and  more  than  four  hun- 
dred of  the  nation — nearly  half  of  it.  Yet  unsub- 
dued, and  as  fierce  as  ever,  the  remnant  of  their  war- 
riors having  unsuccessfully  attacked  the  French  post 
at  Natchitoches,  were  in  turn  assaulted  by  St.  Denis, 
the  commander  there,  and  again  dispersed  with  very 
severe  loss.  The  chiefs  and  others  taken  in  the  second 
expedition  were  sold  into  slavery  in  St.  Domingo. 
The  scattered  relics  now  left,  incorporated  themselves 
with  various  Indian  tribes ;  and  the  ITatchez  nation 
was  utterly  extinct;  although  some  few  indivi- 
duals of  it  have  been  seen  in  the  town  of  I^atchez 
even  within  the  memory  of  those  now  living,  still 
distinguished  by  the  commanding  form,  lofty  stature, 
and  high  retreating  forehead,  of  their  race. 

But  the  war,  although  entirely  successful,  had 
drawn  heavily  upon  the  strength  of  the  colony. 
For  three  years  every  nerve  had  been  strained  to 
the  utmost  to  furnish  men  and  supplies  for  expedition 
after  expedition.    A  small  tribe,  of  kin  to  the  ISTatchez, 


248  FRENCH   CHIVALRY    IN   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

the  Cliouacas,  had  been  exterminated  on  suspicion,  by 
way  of  collateral  security.  Two  dangerous  domes- 
tic negro  plots  had  to  be  quelled ;  and  amid  fear 
and  exertions,  watchings  and  anxiety  at  home,  and 
wasteful  war  abroad,  the  arts  of  peace  had  but  ill 
thriven.  The  Western  Company,  at  last  quite  dis- 
couraged, gave  up  their  charter,  and  r^nitted  Louisi- 
ana into  the  hands  of  the  crown.  The  colony,  al- 
though always  a  source  of  loss  to  the  company,  had 
grown,  under  their  management,  from  seven  hundred 
to  five  thousand  souls,  and  had  assured  its  footing 
upon  the  lands  of  Louisiana. 

A  few  years  later,  a  campaign  was  resolved  upon 
against  the  Chickasaws.  This  warlike  nation  had 
long  been  inclined  to  the  English  interest ;  had 
afforded  refuge  and  countenance  to  numbers  of  the 
dispersed  l^atchez,  and  in  conjunction  with  them, 
and  stimulated  by  British  traders  and  emissaries, 
had  committed  many  outrages  against  the  French. 
Growing  bolder,  they  had  latterly  destroyed  the 
thoroughfare  for  trade  and  passage  on  the  Missis- 
sippi ;  and,  doubtless  with  British  advice,  even  stir- 
red up  the  negroes  near  ISfew  Orleans  to  a  third 
insurrection,  which  was  rapidly  ramifying  and  ripen- 
ing, when  it  was  discovered  and  cruelly  quenched  in 
the  lives  of  its  ringleaders. 

Bienville,  now  aged,  yet  still  ambitious,  was  sent  to 
Louisiana  to  govern  the  province  and  command  the 


A.TTACK   UPON   THE   CHICKASAWS.  249 

expedition.  Trusting  in  his  old  renown  among  the 
Indians,  he  sends  a  haughty  demand  to  the  Ohicka- 
saws,  for  the  surrender  of  the  E'atchez  amongst  them  ; 
which  is  coolly  refused,  and  Bienville  forthwith  pre- 
pares to  inflict  upon  them  a  summary  chastisement — 
nothing  less  than  the  devastation  of  all  their  country 
with  an  irresistible  force.  He  concerts  with  D'Arta- 
guette,  commandant  at  Fort  Chartres  in  the  district  of 
the  Illinois,  a  combined  plan  of  operations ;  D'Arta- 
guette  is  to  come  down  the  Mississippi  with  all  the 
French  and  Indians  he  can  muster,  and  cross  to  the 
Chickasaw  country  ;  Bienville  on  his  part,  moving  by 
water  to  Mobile  and  up  the  Tombigbee,  will  meet 
him  there  about  May  10th,  1736.  Accordingly,  bur- 
dened with  stores  and  provisions,  Bienville  moves  up 
the  river  to  Fort  Tombigbee,  newly  constructed  as  a 
military  depot,  and  thence  advancing  a  fortnight  later 
than  the  day  set  for  the  junction  with  D'Artaguette, 
hearing  nothing  of  him,  vexed  and  disappointed,  yet 
without  any  alternative,  delivers  the  assault  upon 
the  Chickasaw  towns  with  his  own  little  army  of  six 
hundred  French  and  twelve  hundred  Choctaw  allies. 
But  in  spite  of  French  valor  and  savage  impetuosity, 
of  arrow  and  musket,  and  hand  grenade,  of  two  des- 
perate attacks,  the  indomitable  Chickasaws,  fortified 
with  the  help  of  British  traders,  of  whom  numbers 
are  within  their  intrenchments,  beat  them  off  with 
tremendous  loss.  In  terrible  mortification,  hearing 
11* 


250      FRENCH  CHIVALRY  IN  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

no  news  from  D'Artagiiette,  hopeless  of  success  with- 
out artilleiy,  against  fortifications  so  unexpectedly 
strong,  the  disappointed  old  chief  dismisses  his  sav- 
age allies  with  gifts  and  good  words,  retreats  to  his 
fort,  casts  the  artillery  there  into  the  river,  and 
defeated  and  ashamed,  returns  to  New  Orleans. 
There  he  presently  receives  the  bitter  news  that  the 
gallant  young  D'Artaguette,  having  kept  his  appoint- 
ment, and  on  his  part,  hearing  nothing  from  his  supe- 
rior, had  waited,  encamped  in  sight  of  the  enemy, 
until  he  could  no  longer  restrain  his  Indian  auxilia- 
ries, and  had  against  his  own  judgment,  attacked  the 
foe.  Driving  the  stubborn  Chickasaws  from  one  for- 
tified village,  they  occupy  a  second.  A  second  furi- 
ous assault  dislodges  them  from  that ;  and  taking 
refuge  in  a  third,  the  valor  of  the  assailants  has 
already  a  third  time  decided  the  battle,  when  in  the 
moment  of  victory  their  daring  young  leader  receives 
first  one  wound  and  then  another,  and  falls.  His 
unstable  Indians,  seeing  this,  turn  and  flee  ;  the  obstin- 
ate Chickasaws,  thus  relieved,  precipitate  themselves 
upon  the  thinning  ranks  of  the  French,  who,  few,  wea- 
ried and  deserted,  are  forced  to  follow.  Under  the  com- 
mand of  Yoisin,  a  lad  of  sixteen,  they  retreat  desper- 
ately seventy-five  miles  with  their  enemy  yet  hanging 
close  upon  them;  a  hundred  and  thirty-five  miles 
before  they  eat,  and  bearing  with  them  the  strong- 
est of  the  wounded.     D'Artaguette,  his  comnauion 


ATTACK  UPON  THE  CHICKASAWS.        251 

Yincennes,  liis  priest,  the  Jesuit  Senat,  and  others  of 
his  men  to  the  number  of  nineteen,  are  captured,  and 
at  first  well-treated,  with  a  view  to  ransom  or  negotia- 
tion with  Bienville.  But  upon  his  discomfiture,  the 
hapless  men  are  burned  alive  with  all  the  triumphant 
ingenuity  of  the  Indian  torture. 

Bienville  yet  plans  another  campaign ;  he  cannot 
rest  until  he  shall  have  punished  the  Chickasaws. 
revenged  his  lost  countrymen,  and  vindicated  his  own 
and  his  coimtry's  fame.  So  he  organizes  a  second 
expedition,  and  this  time  he  ascends  the  Mississippi, 
designing  to  fall  upon  the  foe  from  the  north.  But 
the  old  man  is  unequal  to  the  occasion  ;  he  has  lost 
the  tremendous  and  untiring  energy  which  had  so 
long  been  the  protection  and  life  of  the  province,  and 
delays  and  consequent  sickness  and  famine,  enfeeble 
his  army  even  before  the  real  advance  of  the  expedi- 
tion. Having  wasted  almost  a  whole  year,  a  little 
phantom  of.  an  army,  all  that  is  left,  advances  and 
meets  the  Chickasaws  ;  its  commander,  by  Bienville's 
authority,  gladly  seizes  the  opportunity  to  make  a 
treaty  with  the  Indians,  who  think  this  insignificant 
force  only  the  advanced  guard  of  the  French.  And 
so  a  second  time,  his  men  and  stores  wasted,  disap- 
pointed and  chagrined,  even  more  shamefully  than 
before,  Bienville  returns  down  the  river  to  ISTew 
Orleans. 

The  Chickasaws  have  never  been  conquered.     De 


2S3  FRENCH   CHIVALRT   IN   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

Soto,  Eienville,  D'Artagiiette,  and  Yaudreuil,  Bien-* 
ville's  successor,  who  repeated  tlie  attempt  some  years 
later  with  like  success,  all  failed  most  memorably. 
Their  Indian  foes  never  overcame  them  :  they  have 
as  yet  been  impregnable  in  tlieir  savage  patriotism. 

Bienville  in  disgrace  and  sorrow  returned  to 
France,  superseded  by  the  Marquis  de  Yaudreuil; 
and  terminated  in  sadness  and  misfortune  a  long  and 
honorable  life. 

Under  the  wise  administration  of  the  Marquis  de 
Yaudreuil,  and  of  his  successor  M.  de  Kerlerec,  the 
province  of  Louisiana  began  to  flourish  mightily. 
"Within  ten  years  after  the  close  of  the  Chickasaw  war, 
the  French  king  was  undisputed  master  of  the  whole 
vast  valley  of  the  Mississippi.  His  name  and  autho- 
rity were  reverenced  by  all  the  tribes ;  his  officers 
and  messengers  governed  and  travelled  with  safety 
and  honor ;  and  under  the  shadow  of  his  protecting 
power,  population  and  wealth  rapidly  accumulated. 
The  vast  sweep  of  territory  formed  by  the  two 
immense  valleys  of  the  Mississippi  and  St.  Lawrence, 
formed  a  great  barrier  around  that  narrow  coast-wise 
strip  on  the  comparatively  barren  eastern  slope  of  the 
Alleghanies,  which  included  the  English  possessions  ; 
and  there  seemed  to  be  every  reason  for  supposing 
!;hat  the  French  power  must  remain  immeasurably 
preponderant  upon  the  continent  of  Korth  America. 

So  enormous  a  portion  of  tlie  earth's  meridian  did 


GROWTH    OF   THE   LOUISIANA   PROVINCE.  253 

the  province  of  Louisiana  cover,  that  it  possessed 
that  almost  certain  guarantee  for  continued  integral 
existence,  an  interior  commerce  almost  or  entirely 
self-sujfficient  and  self-sustaining.  Yearly  the  number 
of  keel-boats  and  barges  increased,  on  which  there 
came  down  from  the  upper  valley,  flour,  pork,  bacon, 
hides,  leather,  tallow,  bears'-oil,  fm's,  lumber,  all  the 
products  of  fertile  temperate  regions ;  and  in  which 
there  went  up  the  equivalents ;  the  rice,  indigo, 
tobacco,  sugar,  cotton ;  for  all  these  rich  staples  were 
already  naturalized  in  the  colony,  on  the  lower  banks 
of  the  Mississippi ;  as  well  as  the  manufactured  mer- 
chandise of  distant  Europe.  There  was  once  or 
twice  a  destructive  tornado,  or  a  cruel  frost ;  but  the 
strong  province  no  longer  felt  such  a  dispensation  as 
anything  more  than  a  light  misfortune. 

M.  de  Yaudreuil,  to  check  the  growing  incursions 
of  the  Chickasaws,  led  against  them  the  expedition 
which  has  already  been  alluded  to ;  but  the  warlike 
savages  were  fortified  even  better  than  before ;  and 
from  their  inaccessible  holds,  which  were  so  regularly 
and  strongly  palisaded,  ditched,  and  flanked  with 
block-houses  as  to  be  impregnable  without  artillery, 
they  safely  beheld  the  devastation  of  their  crops  and 
the  destruction  of  their  wigwams ;  a  futile  vengeance, 
of  little  significance  to  them,  and  of  less  to  Yau- 
dreuil, who  had  to  carry  his  unsatisfied  wrath  back 
with  him,  and  unlaurelled  to  digest  it  as  he  might. 


254:  FRENCH    CniYALRY    IN  THE    SOUTHWEST. 

Now,  however,  commenced  the  old  French  war ; 
that  savage  eight  years'  struggle  between  England 
and  France,  which  was  to  wrench  the  supremacy  upon 
this  continent  from  the  latter  power,  and  to  detain  it 
for  a  few  years  in  the  hands  of  the  former,  as  if  in 
temporary  trust,  for  the  use  of  the  strong  republic 
in  whose  grasp  it  now  remains.  All  along  the  vast 
frontier  line,  England  and  France  meddled  with  fron- 
tiersmen and  savages ;  and  all  along  the  line  the  hot 
but  flickering  flame  of  the  Indian  wars  began  to 
burn.  The  chief  struggle,  however,  was  in  Canada ; 
the  settlements  in  Louisiana  and  the  Illinois,  girt  by 
wide  and  pathless  forests,  remained  untouched  by  the 
war,  and  peacefully  pursued  their  farming  and  their 
trade.  The  only  sorrow  that  fell  upon  them  was  the 
embarrassment  arising  from  the  inundation  of  govern- 
ment drafts  and  notes  set  afloat  in  payment  for  sup- 
plies, which  it  could  not  redeem,  and  which  ham- 
pered and  perplexed  the  business  of  the  valley  until 
the  end  of  the  war. 

One  day  in  the  early  part  of  this  war,  a  fleet  of 
boats  and  barges  is  descried,  descending  the  yellow 
current  of  the  river.  It  is  moored  at  the  city,  and  a 
toilworn  band  of  Frenchmen,  ragged,  penniless, 
famine-struck,  along  with  sad  wives  and  mournful 
children,  disembarks.  They  enter  the  astonished 
town,  as  suppliants  for  charity.  Their  doleful  story 
is  soon  told.      Nearly  three   thousand   miles  away, 


DESTRtrCTION   OF    A    FRENCH    COLONY.  255 

upon  the  bleak  northern  shores  of  Acadia,  first  under 
the  mild  government  of  their  native  France,  and 
afterwards  under  the  harsher  but  unresisted  dominion 
of  the  English,  thej  had  inhabited  the  pleasant  homes 
which  their  brave  indnstry  had  conquered  from  the 
inhospitable  soil  and  climate.  Tlie  English  court,  on 
the  heartless,  baseless,  and  cruel  pretence  that  these 
simple  hearted  habitans  would  rise  against  their  con- 
querors, in  aid  of  their  brethren  in  Canada,  deliber- 
ately resolved  upon  the  fiendish  measure  of  rooting 
up,  robbing,  and  casting  forth  into  helpless  beggary 
the  people  of  the  entire  province.  Upon  this  devil's 
errand  came  an  army  to  seize  them,  and  a  fleet  to 
carry  them.  Helpless  and  unarmed,  resistance  was 
impossible,  undreamed  of.  Lest,  however,  they 
should  seek  to  return  to  their  desolate  homes,  their 
money  and  property  are  stripped  from  them,  and 
those  homes  are  burned  before  their  very  eyes.  Thus 
houseless  and  destitute,  the  stupefied  wretches  are 
hurried  aboard  of  the  fleet,  and  in  miserable  groups, 
as  pirates  use  their  victims,  landed  naked  and  des- 
pairing on  one  and  another  barren  sand-hill  all  along 
the  desert  coast  of  E"ew  Jersey,  Delaware,  Maryland 
and  Yirginia. 

Th.Q  compassion  of  the  neighboring  people  and 
authorities  fm-nished  them  the  necessary  succor. 
But  not  able  to  endure  the  tongue  even,  or  the  com- 
panionship, of  these  subjects  of  the  tyrant  power, 


256  FRENCH    CHIYALET   IN   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

with  a  desperate  hardihood  nearly  allied  to  the  resist- 
less stings  of  instinct,  thej  gathered  up  the  little 
resources  which  the  friendly  Anglo-Americans  gave 
them,  set  their  faces  steadfastly  westward,  and  in 
spite  of  peril  and  hardship,  traversed  a  thousand 
miles  of  pathless  primeval  forest ;  embarked  on  the 
Ohio ;  and  floated  down  two  thousand  miles  more  to 
the  settlements  of  their  happier  kinsmen. 

The  whole  city  rose  up  to  meet  them.  Every 
heart  and  home  was  opened  wide  to  receive  the 
unfortunate  wanderers,  to  minister  to  their  wants,  to 
relieve  their  sorrows.  Public  benevolence  vied  with 
private  charity  in  the  noble  strife  of  kindness.  An 
allotment  of  land  was  granted  to  every  family,  and 
until  they  should  be  settled  in  the  safe  possession  of 
means  for  their  own  support,  to  every  household  was 
dealt  out  from  the  royal  store-houses,  seeds,  husband- 
man's tools,  and  daily  sufficient  rations  of  food. 
Thus  was  settled  next  above  the  ''  German  Coast," 
which  had  been  allotted  to  the  refugees  from  the 
Arkansas  settlement,  that  stretch  of  the  Mississippi 
shore  yet  known  as  the  "  Acadian  Coast."  Tliat 
neighborhood  yet  contains  many  of  the  descendents 
of  those  wanderers  from  the  north,  and  in  their 
hearts  yet  burns  the  fire  of  inextinguishable  heredi- 
ary  enmity  against  the  nation  of  their  brutal  oppress- 
01*8,  the  English. 

The  war  raged  fiercely  in  the  north  ;  and  over  one 


CESSION    OF    TEEEITOKY    TO    THE   BKITISH.  257 

stronghold  after  another,  the  British  lion  replaced 
the  white  flag  of  France.  Large  numbers  of  Cana- 
dians, fleeing  from  the  hated  dominion  of  their  con- 
querors, following  upon  the  track  of  the  Acadians,  or 
across  the  well-known  route  throuo^h  the  Dlinois  coun- 
try,  came  down  the  river  ;  some  halting,  and  settling 
however,  on  the  Upper  Mississippi ;  and  thus  the 
population  of  the  province  received  a  large  and  valu- 
able augmentation  at  the  expense  of  Britain. 

In  1763,  by  the  treaty  of  Paris,  the  beaten  and 
humbled  kmgdom  of  France,  exhausted  with  the 
long  and  distant  struggle,  unwillingly  yielded  the 
prize  of  the  strife,  and  ceded  to  England  the  enor- 
mous territory  of  Canada  and  the  whole  Mississippi 
valley,  east  of  the  river,  except  a  small  portion  south 
of  Bayou  Iberville  (or  Manchac),  including  [N'ew 
Orleans.  By  the  same  treaty  Spain  ceded  to  Eng- 
land the  whole  of  Florida;  and  thus  did  Great 
Britain  gain  all  IS'orth  America  east  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi. 

The  French  posts  in  the  Illinois,  and  Forts  Rosalie, 
Baton  Rouge,  Toulouse,  and  Conde,  were  soon  in  the 
bands  of  English  garrisons,  and  the  southern  portion 
of  the  new  acquisition  being  erected  into  the  govern- 
ments of  East  and  West  Florida,  the  provincial 
organizations  of  the  English  were  speedily  com- 
pleted, upon  a  sort  of  mixed  footing,  half  military 
and  half  civil.     Many  of  the  French,  impatient  of 


258  FRENCH    CHIYALRY    IN   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

the  English  yoke,  flee  across  to  the  western  side  of 
the  Mississippi,  or  within  the  immediate  depend  en 
cies  of  New  Orleans,  that  they  may  still  live  beneath 
the  beloved  rule  of  their  native  monarch.  But  the 
rumor  creeps  about  that  western  Louisiana  too  has 
passed  away  from  the  power  of  the  French  king ; 
that  province,  people  and  all,  have  been  given 
secretly  away  into  the  hands  of  Spain.  As  the 
story  gains  consistency  and  belief,  murmurs  of  dis- 
satisfaction and  anger  increase ;  and  when  at  last  the 
definite  confirmation  of  the  report  comes  in  dis- 
patches to  M.  Abadie,  the  governor  ad  interim^  the 
disappointed  inhabitants  are  in  so  dangerous  and 
wrathful  a  ferment  that  the  Spaniards  hesitate  to 
attempt  taking  possession,  and  for  many  months 
await  the  discontinuance  of  the  excitement.  But  it 
rather  increases.  Conscious  of  dutiful  and  loving 
services  to  the  French  crown,  unable  to  understand 
the  reason  of  this  heartless  diplomatic  transfer,  hurt 
and  angry,  yet  still  hoping  that  the  misfortune  is  not 
inevitable,  they  meet  together,  and  appoint  deputies 
to  present  the  urgent  and  humble  petition  of  the 
province,  that  they  may  by  some  means  be  retained 
within  the  paternal  rule  of  France.  Their  delegate, 
M.  Milhet,  a  wealthy  and  respected  merchant, 
reaching  Paris,  enlists  the  aged  Bienville,  now 
eighty-seven  years  old,  in  his  cause,  and  together 
they  lay  their  entreaties  and  those  of  the  provmce, 


CESSION   OF   WESTERN   LOUISIANA   TO   SPAIN.      259 

before  the  prime  minister.  But  "  reasons  of  State  " 
have  little  to  do  with  the  rights,  or  wishes,  or  love 
of  a  people.  The  transfer  is  a  foregone  conclusion. 
The  minister,  resolved  upon  the  measure,  artfully 
manages  to  keep  M.  Milhet  from  an  audience  with 
the  king,  and  he  returns  disappointed  and  discour- 
aged. A  second  time  he  goes,  and  a  second  time 
comes  hopeless  home.  Don  Antonio  de  Ulloa,  with 
a  Spanish  force,  at  last  enters  New  Orleans,  but  per- 
ceiving the  depth  of  the  feeling  he  had  to  encounter, 
he  delays  presenting  his  commission,  and  waits  for 
more  troops.  They  arrive ;  yet  he  delays.  It  is 
nearly  three  years  since  the  province  was  thus 
given  away,  and  yet  the  popular  dissatisfaction 
rather  increases.  A  strong  fleet  is  heard  of  at 
Havana;  it  is  feared  that  it  is  intended  for  the 
province ;  the  people  are  upon  the  verge  of  armed 
insurrection.  Ulloa,  a  temporizing  man,  being  at 
length  called  upon  by  the  superior  council  of  the 
province,  either  to  produce  his  authority  or  to  leave 
the  country,  determines  to  do  the  latter,  and  embarks 
on  one  of  the  Spanish  vessels  in  the  river.  The 
populace  cut  the  cables  by  night.  She  drops  down 
the  stream,  and  does  not  return,  and  her  consorts 
follow.  Once  more  a  petition  is  sent  to  the  French 
king;  but  now,  a  strong  Spanish  force,  under  the 
stern  and  energetic  Don  Alexander  O'Eeilly,  is 
already  on  the  way  to  the  province.     With  short 


260  FRENCH   CHIYALET   IN   THE    SOXTTHWEST. 

preliminary  delay,  to  advise  the  authorities  of  his 
approach,  he  ascends  the  Mississippi,  anchors  before 
the  city,  disembarks  his  troops,  and  in  public,  before 
the  displeased  and  silent  populace,  but  amidst  the 
cheei*s  of  the  soldiery,  formally  receives  possession 
of  Western  Louisiana  for  the  crown  of  Spain.  The 
French  flag  is  lowered,  the  Spanish  hoisted  in  its 
stead,  and  the  Spanish  authority  is  forthwith  installed 
throughout  the  province. 

The  aggregate  population  of  Western  Louisiana 
alone  at  the  time  of  the  transfer,  was  more  than  thir- 
teen thousand  five  hundred  souls  ;  and  the  exports 
of  the  province  for  the  past  year  had  reached  the 
amount  of  a  quarter  of  a  million  of  dollars. 

O'Reilly,  the  Spanish  Governor,  and  a  true  Span- 
iard, haughty,  passionate,  gloomy  and  false,  promised 
oblivion  for  offences  past,  and  pardon  to  all  who 
should  submit  to  his  authority.  Yet  almost  his  first 
ofl&cial  act  was  the  sudden  arrest  of  four  of  the  most 
prominent  French  citizens,  who  were  treacherously 
seized  and  hurried  away  to  a  place  of  military  impris- 
onment, while  at  an  entertainment  at  O'Reilly's  own 
house,  upon  his  own  invitation.  Within  a  few  days 
the  tyrant  unmasked  himself  still  further  by  arresting 
eight  more  well-known  citizens.  Of  these  twelve, 
one  was  murdered  by  his  guards  in  attempting  to 
reach  his  frantic  wife,  who  strove  to  visit  him  in 
prison ;  five  were  shot  in  public,  and  their  estates 


OPPRESSION    OF   THE    SPANISH    GOVERNOR.  261 

confiscated  ;  four  imprisoned  in  tlie  dungeons  of  the 
Moro  at  Havana,  and  two  only  acquitted. 

O'Reilly  having  thus  substituted  the  silence  of  fear 
for  the  murmurs  of  dissatisfaction,  proceeded  to 
abolish  all  the  French  forms  of  government,  and  to 
erect  the  Spanish  courts  and  municipal  institutions 
instead,  both  in  city  and  country.  Spanish  became 
the  official  language  in  keeping  all  records  and  pro- 
ceedings ;  and  this  change  having  been  fully  com- 
pleted, many  Spanish  immigrants  began  to  enter  the 
province,  even  so  numerously,  as  to  produce  for  a 
time  a  serious  scarcity  of  provisions. 

In  this  change  of  laws,  the  ferocious  and  despotic 
governor  paid  no  heed  to  the  customs  or  preferences 
of  the  French  ;  and  established  so  many  regulations 
of  a  character  oppressive  to  them,  that  many  of  the 
most  valuable  citizens  of  that  nation  fled  out  of  that 
country  to  St.  Domingo.  Hereupon,  the  governor 
refused  to  grant  further  passports,  and  thus  forced 
them  to  remain  under  thfe  tyranny  of  his  harsh 
administration. 

O'Reilly's  conduct,  however,  brought  upon  him  the 
severe  displeasure  of  his  sovereign  ;  and  at  the  end 
of  one  year  he  was  recalled  to  Spain  in  disgrace. 

Under  the  administrations  of  a  succession  of  able 
and  moderate  governors,  Unzaga,  Galvez,  who 
enlarged  his  government  by  re-conquering  from  Eng- 
land for  Spain  the  temporary  possession  of  all  Florida, 


262  FRENCH    OHIYALRY    IN   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

MirOj  and  Carondelet,  tlie  government  of  Louisiana 
was  of  a  wise  and  liberal  character.  The  oj^pressive 
restrictions  of  O'Reilly  were  rescinded,  and  many 
judicious  measures  were  taken  to  confirm  and  increase 
the  strength  and  prosperity  of  the  province. 

Under  Governor  Miro's  administration  it  was  that 
the  first  and  only  attempt  was  made  to  introduce  into 
the  province  that  terrific  auxiliary  engine  of  Catholic 
polity,  the  Romish  Inquisition.  Under  his  mild, 
wise,  and  popular  management  of  the  province, 
the  Pope,  not  satisfied  with  the  exclusive  official 
recognition  of  the  Roman  Catholic  faith,  and  with  the 
support  of  its  establishment  by  government  funds, 
thought  proper  to  provide  for  the  pestilent  heresies 
which  it  was  apprehended  would  creep  in  from  the 
United  States  by  appointing  a  clergyman  of  ^ew 
Orleans,  Commissary  of  the  Holy  Office.  Miro, 
under  the  royal  instructions,  notified  the  ecclesiastics 
of  the  king's  prohibition  of  the  exercise  of  this 
authority  within  the  provtnce,  and  forbade  him  there- 
from ;  but  the  priest,  on  the  usual  plea  of  clerical 
usurpers,  that  he  must  obey  God  rather  than  man, 
coolly  proceeded  to  the  performance  of  the  inter- 
dicted duties.  Miro,  however^  took  prompt  meas- 
ures to  enforce  his  orders  ;  and  the  refractory  father 
was  awakened  at  midnight  by  an  officer  with  eighteen 
grenadiers,  against  whom  his  spiritual  weapons  not 
availing,  he  was  quickly  stowed  aboard  of  a  vessel 


EXPANSION    OF   THE   ANGLO-AMERICAN   ELEMENT.    263 

just  ready  to  sail  for  Spain,  and  by  daylight  next 
morning  was  safely  on  his  way  to  Europe.  The  dis- 
couraged Homish  see  made  no  further  efforts  to  intro- 
duce this  instrument  of  pontifical  tyranny  into 
Louisiana. 

But  now  the  utmost  settlements  and  still  m'ore 
advanced  pioneers  of  yet  another  civilization,  begin 
to  press  closer  and  closer  upon  the  Spanish  frontiers. 
All  the  vast  valley  east  of  the  Mississippi,  from  the 
distant  northern  lakes  down  to  the  present  borders  of 
Georgia,  and  the  southern  line  of  Tennessee  is  filling 
up  with  hunters,  traders,  and  close  behind  them  with 
the  steadily  advancing  ranks  of  agricultural  settlers. 
Agricultural  products  increase  and  multiply ;  and  by 
necessary  consequence  the  swelling  currents  of  trade 
seek  their  natural  outlet  by  the  river,  and  their  natural 
depot  at  IS'ew  Orleans.  The  free  and  bold  Anglo- 
Americans  will  bring  a  vast  commerce  yearly  to  that 
city,  but  they  are  unaccustomed  to  restrictions  upon 
trade,  or  to  the  tedious  formalisms  of  the  Spanish 
authorities.  These  last  on  their  part,  are  apprehen- 
sive exceedingly  of  the  effects  to  be  feared  from  the 
contact  of  such  men  with  the  inflammable  and  even 
yet  unreconciled  French  Creoles,  and  especially  of 
their  securing  a  footing  as  landed  settlers  within  the 
province.  The  laws  respecting  land  grants  are  or- 
dered to  be  most  strictly  construed  in  the  impediment 
of  any  applicants  from  the  United  States.     A  most 


264:  FKENCH    CHIVALRY   IN   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

irritating  and  vexatious  system  of  inspections  and 
arbitrary  duties  is  set  up  along  the  river,  and  enforced 
by  fine  or  confiscation.  The  Spanish  oiScials  who, 
with  their  forms  and  ceremonies,  have  imported  at 
least  a  full  share  of  the  shameful  corruptions  of  their 
native  tribunals,  are  most  prone  to  this  latter  penalty  ; 
that  they  may  turn  the  proceeds  into  their  private 
treasures  instead  of  that  of  the  State.  And,  more- 
over, there  is  long  dispute  and  reluctant  delay 
on  the  part  of  Spain  before  withdrawing  from  the 
"  Natchez  District,"  east  of  the  river,  although  it  is 
confessedly  north  of  the  true  boundary  between  the 
United  States  and  the  Spanish  province  of  Florida. 
The  farmers  of  Kentucky  and  Ohio  and  all  the  wide 
northwest  grow  more  and  more  impatient ;  and  the 
hot-blooded  Georgians  insist  upon  the  occupation  of 
their  rightful  domain  to  the  westward.  They  vow 
revenge  against  Spain,  and  they  even  threaten  the 
federal  government  for  delaying  to  secure  for  them 
their  natural  and  necessary  rights.  The  Spanish 
governors,  taking  advantage  of  their  circumstances, 
intrigue  long  and  industriously  to  induce  the  young 
commonwealths  within  the  valley  to  secede,  and  either 
swear  allegiance  to  the  Spanish  crown,  or  to  set  up  a 
union  for  themselves  under  its  protection.  There  is 
a  party  for  each  of  these  hopeful  schemes.  There  is 
another  and  a  stronger  one  for  the  armed  invasion  of 
Louisiana,  and  the  seizure  by  force  of  a  right  so  clear 


PUKCHASE   OF   THE   LOmSIANA   TERRITOET.         265 

and  so  pre-eminently  necessary  as  that  of  a  free  out- 
let for  commerce  ;  so  strong,  indeed,  that  the  federal 
government  was  more  than  once  on  the  extreme  verge 
of  adopting  their  enterprise,  or  of  forcibly  preventing 
it.  Spanish  agents  are  busy  here  and  there ;  and  the 
well-known  Wilkinson  is  the  chief  centre  of  an  inex- 
tricable net  of  intrigue,  actuated  probably  by  many 
mixed  motives,  good  and  bad.  While  vexed  with  the 
progress  of  these  restless,  fearless,  and  ungovernable 
Anglo-Americans,  the  Spanish  court  is  summoned  by 
Napoleon  Bonaparte  to  hand  the  province  of  Louisi- 
ana over  to  him.  Weak  and  helpless,  it  has  no 
resource  but  to  obey.  But  finding  his  hands  even 
over-full  with  the  business  which  his  enemies  cut 
out  for  him  on  the  continent  of  Europe,  Kapoleon 
resolves  to  give  up  his  scheme  of  an  armed  occupa- 
tion of  Louisiana,  and  negotiates  a  sale  of  it  to  the 
United  States,  for  sums  and  payments  equivalent  in 
all  to  sixteen  millions  of  dollars ;  and  so  the  formal 
cession  of  the  province  by  Spain  to  France  is  com- 
pleted between  Governor  Salcedo  and  the  Marquis 
de  Casa  Calvo,  commissioners  on  the  part  of  Spain, 
and  M.  Laussat,  French  commissioner,  ISTovember 
30th,  1803.  The  French  frame  of  government  was 
barely  instituted,  to  be  superseded ;  and  on  the  20th 
of  the  following  December,  Governor  William  C.  C. 
Claiborne  received  possession  of  Louisiana  for  the 

United  States  amidst  great  display  and  rejoicinf^. 

12 


266      FRENCH  CHIVALRY  IN  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

Thus,  after  an  intermittent  possession  during  more 
tlian  a  century,  counting  from  the  landing  of  D'lher- 
ville  upon  the  sands  of  Dauphin  Island,  and  for 
about  a  century  and  a  quarter  from  La  Salle's  formal 
ceremony  of  possession,  the  French  rule  in  Louisiana 
came  to  a  definite  termination,  and  the  French  popu- 
lation, as  well  as  the  small  Spanish  element,  became 
in  form,  incorporated  with  the  dominant  Anglo-Ame- 
rican race.  But  even  at  this  present  writing,  the 
French  Creoles  are  the  mass  of  population  in  many 
of  the  Louisiana  parishes,  and  among  them  the 
French  tongue  and  many  French  customs  and  charac- 
teristics, are  so  affectionately  and  carefully  main- 
tained, that  they  are  yet  a  peculiar,  though  a  peaceful 
and  law-abiding  people.  A  large  section  of  Kew 
Orleans  itself  is  inhabited  almost  exclusively  by 
Creoles ;  the  local  laws  of  the  State  yet  contain  a 
very  decided,  if  not  predominant,  infusion  of  the 
old  Roman  jurisprudence  transferred  from  the  Corpus 
Juris  Civilis,  the  Pandects  and  the  Code  of  Justinian, 
through  the  French  codes,  to  the  State  statute-book  ; 
and  the  laws  and  public  proceedings  and  records  of 
Louisiana  are  published  in  duplicate,  in  French  and 
English. 

Louisiana,  as  first  claimed  for  France  by  La  Salle, 
in  1682,  under  that  name  (which,  however,  had  been 
selected  and  bestowed  by  "  the  Great  Liar,"  as  the 
French  called  Hennepin,  a  year  earlier)  is  defined  in 


HISTORICAL    TRADITIONS.  267 

the  j)roces  verbal  of  the  ceremony  of  taking  possession 
substantially  as  including  the  whole  valley  of  the 
Mississippi  and  of  its  tributaries,  from  the  Ohio 
Eisner  to  the  Gulf.  Upon  the  double  cession  of  this 
vast  territory  to  Great  Britain  and  Spain  in  1763, 
that  portion  of  the  valley  east  of  the  river  lost  the 
name  _  of  Louisiaiia,  which  consequently  now 
designated  the  Mississippi  basin  west  of  the  river, 
together  with  that  small  district  east  of  it,  called 
the  Island  of  New  Oi'leans,  and  an  unsettled  claim 
over  the  present  State  of  Texas,  to  the  Colorado 
River. 

Don  Bernard  Galvez  subsequently  annexed,  by 
conquest  from  England,  the  "  Natchez  "  and  "  Baton 
Rouge  "  districts,  thereby  carrying  the  boundary  of 
Louisiana  east  of  the  Mississippi  to  some  distance 
north  of  the  thirty -first  degree  of  north  latitude,  and 
eastward  nearly  to  the  present  boundary  of  Georgia. 

The  subsequent  unwilling  cession  to  the  United 
States,  of  the  northern  portion  of  this  territory, 
finally  consummated  in  1798,  and  the  acquisition  of 
the  province  by  Napoleon,  at  which  time  Louisiana 
east  of  the  river,  except  the  Island  of  New  Orleans, 
was  annexed  to  Florida,  again  restricted  these  limits. 
Lower  Louisiana,  upon  organization  as  a  territory  of 
the  United  States,  was  called  the  Territory  of  Orleans, 
and  at  last,  upon  its  admission  to  the  Union  as  a 
State,  the  name  of  Louisiana  was  conferred  upon  that 


268  FRENCH    CHIVALRY   IN    THE    SOUTHWEST. 

territorj,  some  additions  being  made  to  it  -apon  the 
north  and  east. 

The  annals  of  the  French  occupation  of  Louisiana 
contain  many  of  those  curious  traditions  and  narra- 
tives of  adv^enture  and  character  which  lend  so  deep 
a  tinge  of  romance  to  the  early  days  of  colonial  com- 
monwealths. Indians,  Frenchmen,  Germans,  Span- 
iards, English,  Scotch,  Irish,  and  all  manner  of  half- 
breeds  and  mixed  bloods,  trading,  hunting,  fighting, 
intriguing,  wandering  or  settling,  as  the  case  might 
be,  pass  in  fantastic  confusion  across  the  scene,  and 
add  all  the  interest  of  human  passions  in  their  fiercest 
play,  to  the  wild  beauty  and  savage  grandeur  of  the 
varied  landscape  of  that  vast  region.  Brief  relations 
of  some  few  of  these  early  tales,  will  both  relieve  the 
gravity  of  the  historical  narrative,  and  supply  vivid 
representations  of  the  life  and  manners  of  the  times, 
as  well  as  indispensable  items  towards  the  full  under- 
standing even  of  the  present  situation  of  the  country. 

The  Chevalier  D'Aubant,  an  officer  in  the  garrison 
at  Mobile,  observed  one  day  a  female  of  humble 
dress,  yet  ladylike  carriage,  whose  features  he  seemed 
to  have  seen  before.  Keflecting  upon  the  varied 
sights  of  his  erratic  life,  he  is  startled  at  the  idea  that 
the  face  of  the  nameless  emigrant,  who  has  come  to 
Mobile  with  the  German  settlers  for  John  Law's  dis- 
tant grant  upon  the  Arkansas  River,  is  one  which  he 
had  seen  at  St.  Petersburg.     She  is,  he  cannot  but 


mCIDENTS    OF   FOREST   LIFE.  269 

believe,  the  same  whom  in  that  distant  capital  he  had 
seen  high  in  place,  and  surrounded  with  all  the  semi- 
barbaric  splendor  of  the  court  of  the  great  Czar  Peter 
— the  wife  of  the  Czarowitz,  or  heir-apparent,  the 
luckless  Alexis  Petrowitz,  the  victim  of  his  brutal 
father's  mad  passions.  Growing  more  and  more 
certain  of  his  opinion,  he  accosts  the  fair  fugitive,  yet 
a  delicate  and  beautiful  lady,  with  chivalrous  respect. 
Confused  at  the  recoguition,  she  yet  confesses  that  he 
is  right ;  and  upon  his  promise  to  preserve  her  secret, 
she  tells  him  a  wild  adventurous  story ;  how  her  half- 
crazy  husband,  the  Czarowitz,  had  so  vilely  abused 
her,  that  as  the  only  effectual  escape  from  him  she 
had  pretended  death,  been  actually  entombed,  and 
freed  from  her  grave  a  few  hours  afterwards,  had 
fled  in  poverty  and  obscurity,  she  scarcely  knew 
whither,  from  the  splendid  terrors  of  her  frightful 
princess-ship.  Beautiful  she  was  ;  accomplished  and 
good,  D'Aubant  knew  or  believed  her  to  be,  and  his 
sincere  and  ardent  courtship  very  speedily  prevailed 
upon  her  to  marry  him.  He  afterwards  held  various 
commands  in  the  province,  during  one  of  which,  at 
Portl^oulouse,  near  the  present  town  of  "Wetumpka, 
she  long  occupied  a  little  cabin  near  the  fort,  where 
she  used  to  pass  many  hom's  in  sporting  with  the 
Indian  children.  She  was  an  attached  and  faithful 
wife,  and  following  her  husband  in  his  wandering 
military  life  to  France,  and  then  to  the  Isle  of  Bour- 


270  FRENCH   CHTYALRT   EST   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

bon,  in  the  Indian  Ocean,  where  he  died,  she  returned 
to  Paris  with  a  little  daughter,  and  in  1771  ended, 
in  deep  poverty,  a  long  and  mysteriously  eventful 
life. 

In  the  same  town  of  Mobile,  where  the  disguised 
princess  landed,  there  died  in  1757,  by  unjust  and 
barbarous  torture,  another  person,  whose  character, 
prowess,  adventures  and  fate,  were  yet  more  charac- 
teristic of  the  French  colonial  regime. 

Tliere  was  a  French  woodsman  and  solitary  hunter 
named  Beaudrot,  a  man  of  giantly  size,  of  tremen- 
dous and  athletic  strength  and  endurance,  of  great 
renown  for  skill  and  bravery,  and  an  especial  favorite 
with  the  Indians.  He  was  also  much  beloved  by 
Bienville,  the  famous  French  governor,  and  often 
employed  by  him  upon  secret  and  dangerous  missions 
of  importance  amongst  the  Creeks  and  other  tribes, 
many  of  whose  dialects,  and  all  whose  customs,  he 
perfectly  undei^tood.  Endowed  with  the  genuine 
kindness  of  heart  which  so  often  characterizes  men  of 
great  physical  strength,  he  had  repeatedly  used  his 
peculiar  advantages  in  the  interest  of  captives  amongst 
the  savages  ;  saving  more  lives  than  one,  even  if 
the  ransom  cost  him  all  the  profits  of  his  rude  traffic. 

Beaud)"ot  was  one  niglit  returning  alone  through 
the  forest  u])on  what  was  called  the  Chkttahouchie 
trail,  from  Fort  Toulouse,  to  the  commandant  at  which 
post  he  had  carried  a  letter  from  Governor  Bienville. 


INCroENTS   OF   FOREST  LIFE.  271 

Tlie  night  comes  down  upon  liim  far  within  the  forest, 
for  indeed  the  journey  is  of  many  days.  The  wary 
and  liardy  wanderer,  not  kindling  any  fire  forfear  of 
discovery  by  Indians,  according  to  his  custom  when 
alone,  ensconces  himself  close  beneath  a  huge  pine 
log,  and  sleeps  with  the  light  sleep  of  the  Indian 
hunter,  upon  the  dry  pine  leaves,  his  head  upon  his 
knapsack.  Light  steps  awaken  him ;  listening  motion- 
lessly,  his  quick  ears  distinguish  the  guttural  sounds 
of  a  low  conversation  between  Indians,  not  so  distant 
but  that  he  can  judge  of  their  numbers  and  discern 
their  purpose  and  circumstances.  The}^  kindle  a  fire 
of  lightwood ;  the  hidden  giant  is  within  the  circle 
of  its  brilliant  glare  ;  and  but  for  the  shelter  of  his 
log,  had  surely  been  discovered.  Stealthily  peering 
from  his  concealment,  he  sees  three  stout  warriors 
eating  their  supper ;  but  his  kind  and  brave  heart 
beats  quick  at  the  sight  of  a  w^hite  man  their  prisonei-, 
bound,  and  so  tied  to  a  tree  as  to  be  obliged  to  stand 
upright.  The  Indians  complete  their  frugal  meal, 
with  small  care  for  the  appetite  of  their  prize ;  and 
leaving  him  to  stand  in  sleepless  weariness  all  night, 
they  fall  asleep.  Beaudrot  has  recognized  the  pris- 
oner, a  Frenchman,  owning  a  small  plantation  on  the 
Tensas  Kiver  ;  and  waiting  impatiently  until  the  war- 
riors are  snoring  in  secure  slumber,  he  noiselessly 
approaches.  His  fii*st  impulse  is  to  discover  himself, 
loose  the  captive,  give  him  a  pistol,  and  with  him  to 


272  FEENCH   CHIVALET   IN   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

attacK  the  sleepers.  But  the  poor  frightened  fellow 
would  cry  out  at  sight  of  him;  and  the  risk  forbids 
that  scheme.  So,  creeping  along,  he  manages  to  place 
himself  in  such  a  position  that  his  heavily  charged  car- 
bine covers  two  of  the  warriors,  lying  close  together. 
jHe  fires  ;  both  of  them  are  killed  ;  the  third,  leaping 
instinctively  from  sleep  to  the  attack,  forgetting  his 
gun,  and  armed  only  with  his  hatchet,  Beaudrot  fires 
a  pistol  into  his  stomach.  The  Creek  whoops  and 
falls  dead.  Beaudrot  now  hastens  to  untie  his  bewil- 
dered fellow  countryman,  who,  however,  informs  him 
that  the  three  warriors  were  only  a  detached  party ;  and 
that  ten  others  returning  from  a  farther  expedition 
against  the  settlements,  are  doubtless  not  far  ofi'  upon 
the  trail.  Beaudrot,  hereupon,  makes  straight  for  the 
Alabama  River  with  the  rescued  prisoner  ;  builds  a 
raft,  and  after  floating  some  distance  down  the  stream, 
pulls  the  frail  vehicle  in  j)ieces,  sets  the  fragments 
adrift,  and  the  two  fugitives  pluuge  deep  into  a  dreary 
swamp  on  the  further  bank.  It  is  daylight ;  and 
quite  secured  against  pursuit  by  these  prompt,  multi- 
plied, and  cunning  precautions,  they  call  a  halt,  and 
the  intrepid  woodsman  revives  his  friend  and  himself, 
from  his  slender  stores  of  bread  and  dried  venison, 
and  by  the  judicious  administration  of  some  small 
draughts  from  a  certain  little  bottle  of  brandy.  Thus 
refreshed,  and  with  a  few  hours'  rest,  they  set  out  again 
and  Beaudrot's  skill  supports  them  on  game,  until 


]VnLITAEY   TYRANNY.  273 

after  a  tedious  march  through  the  forest,  they  arrive 
in  safety  at  Mobile. 

By  such  deeds  is  the  valiant  Beaudrot  endeared  to 
the  men  of  Mobile  and  thereabouts.  But,  at  last,  upon 
some  unjust  pretext,  during  the  administration  of  Gov- 
ernor Kerlerec,  some  years  after,  we  find  him  impris- 
oned at  a  frontier  French  post  on  Cat  Island,  by  the  ty- 
rannical command  of  a  monster  of  the  Chopart  school, 
named  Duroux ;  who  had  long  exercised  the  most 
degrading  oppression  over  the  helpless  privates  of  his 
command.  He  forced  his  soldiers  to  cultivate  his 
gardens  ;  to  burn  coal,  to  make  lime ;  and  he  sold  the 
produce  of  their  labor  for  his  own  profit.  Those  who 
refused  the  unsoldierly  duty  he  would  have  tied  naked 
to  trees,  to  endure  the  poisonous  stings  of  the  blood- 
thirsty insects  of  the  swamp.  Some  of  those  thus 
tortured  fled  to  New  Orleans  with  their  complaints ; 
but  apparently  from  some  fancied  necessity  such  as 
often  governs  military  discipline,  of  maintaining 
authority,  however  abused,  Kerlerec  sends  them  back 
to  their  duty  unsatisfied.  Daroux  now  increases  his 
abuses,  and  deprives  them  of  all  food  except  spoiled 
bread.  The  wretched  men,  furious  at  their  misery, 
conspire  against  their  tyrant,  slay  him,  strip  the 
corpse  and  cast  it  out  unburied  into  the  sea ;  and 
then  rifling  tlie  stores  at  the  little  fort,  for  once  they 
enjoy  sumptuous  fare. 

But  after  such  mutiny  they  can  no  longer  remain 


274     FRENCH  CHIVALRY  IN  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

in  the  French  colony;  so  they  release  Beandrot  from 
prison,  and  compel  him  to  act  as  their  guide  towards 
the  English  in  Georgia.  Doubtless,  he  was  not  much 
grieved  at  the  oj^portunity  ;  and  so  he  leads  them  in 
good  faith  tlii-ough  distant  and  circuitous  routes  to 
the  Indian  town  of  Coweta  on  the  Chattahoochie,  and 
there  receiving  from  them  a  formal  certificate  that  he 
was  not  concerned  in  the  death  of  Duroux,  and  had 
acted  by  compulsion  in  assisting  their  flight,  they 
dismiss  him,  and  he  returns  quietly  to  his  home  near 
Mobile. 

Months  afterward  he  is  suddenly  imprisoned  by 
the  commandant  there  ;  and  in  the  dungeon  he  finds 
three  of  the  soldiers  whom  he  had  assisted  to  escape. 
Lingering  unwisely  amongst  the  hosj)itable  Indians 
about  Coweta,  and  the  circumstances  coming  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  authorities,  a  detachment  from  Fort 
Toulouse  had  arrested  the  poor  fellows,  and  after 
due  examination  and  communication,  the  order  for 
Beaudrot's  arrest  had  been  sent  from  Kew  Orleans  to 
Mobile  in  a  sealed  package  by  the  hands  of  two  of 
his  own  sons,  who  were  thus  the  ignorant  means  of 
their  father's  death.  He  was  condemned  by  a  court- 
martial,  in  spite  of  his  certificate  and  other  testi- 
mony ;  and  amid  the  sympathy  and  horror-struck 
grief  of  the  people  of  Mobile,  was  broken  on  the 
wheel — that  is,  bound  naked  to  a  cart  wheel  erected 
for  the  purpose   upon  a  post  through   its  axis,  his 

12'' 


AJ^ECDOTE  OF   MONTBERAUT.  275 

limbs  broken  one  after  another  by  blows   from   a.n 
iron  bar,  and   so   left    to    die.     A   fate  even   more 
frightful  awaited  the  wretched  soldiers.     They  were 
privates   of   the    Swiss   regiment  of    Hallwyl ;  and 
according  to  an  ancient  traditional  barbarous  usage 
extant  amongst  those  troops,  having  been  brought 
forth  upon  the  esplanade  before   Fort  Cond^,  they 
were  each  nailed  down  in  a  tight  wooden  coffin,  and 
sawed  asunder,  man,  box  and  all,  with  a  cross-cut 
saw  by  two  sergeants.    These  unrelenting  and  hideous 
punishments  strongly  exhibit  the  terrific  and  unscrupu- 
lous rigor  with  which  military  discipline  was  main- 
tained in  those  distant  regions,  as  well  as  the  obedient 
and    timid    character   of    a    population   who   could 
patiently  acquiesce  in  them. 

Bossu,  a  captain  of  marines,  published,  in  1771,  his 
Travels  in  Louisiana,  which  co|itain  many  amusing 
accounts  of  his  experiences  while  stationed  there  in 
the  days  of  which  we  are  speaking.  Upon  one  occa- 
sion, having  conducted  a  detachment  to  Fort 
Toulouse,  he  learned  a  characteristic  incident  illustra- 
tive of  the  Jesuits  and  of  their  relations  to  the  French 
military  officers.  Montberaut,  commanding  the  fort, 
a  gentleman,  possessed,  like  so  many  others  of  his 
nation  both  of  the  attainments  and  manners  of  a 
polished  and  courtly  gentleman,  and  of  the  seemingly 
incongruous  qualifications  which  led  him  into  a  sort 
of  sworn  brotherhood  and  great  influence  with  the 


276  FRENCH   CHIYALKY   IN   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

tribes,  despised  the  Jesuits,  who  were  stationed  at  the 
fort,  and  was  always  at  enmity  with  them.  Father 
Le  Roy,  a  Jesuit,  wrote  to  the  governor,  abusing  Mont- 
beraut  without  stint,  and  advising  his  removaL  The 
messenger  showed  the  letter  to  the  commandant,  who 
quietly  pocketed  it.  Meeting  the  priest  next  morning, 
the  reverend  gentleman,  as  Bossu  slily  says,  "  accord- 
ing to  the  political  principles  of  these  good  fathers," 
was  excessively  civil ;  whereupon  Montberaut  took 
occasion  incidentally  to  ask  him  if  he  had  written 
anything  unfavorable  to  him.  The  Jesuit  swore  he 
had  not ;  whereupon  Montberaut  called  him  a  cheat 
and  an  impostor,  and  nailed  up  his  letter  at  the  gate 
of  the  fort ;  after  which  time,  according  to  Bossu,  there 
were  no  Jesuits  to  be  found  among  the  Creeks  and 
Alabamas. 

The  country  inhabited  by  those  tribes,  Bossu  found 
exceedingly  lovely  and  fertile,  and  thickly  peopled 
by  hospitable  and  happy  savages.  A.  J.  Pickett, 
from  whose  exceedingly  valuable  and  entertaining 
History  of  Alabama  we  have  obtained  many  of  the 
facts  here  narrated,  referring  to  the  wild  beauty  of 
that  delicious  region,  unaffectedly  and  quaintly  thus 
laments  over  the  so-called  "  improvements  "  of  late 
introduced. 

"  But  now  the  whole  scene  is  changed.  The  coun- 
try is  no  longer  half  so  beautiful ;  the  waters  of 
Alabama  begin  to  be  discolored  ;  the  forests  have 


277 


been  cut  down ;  steamers  have  destroyed  the  finny 
race  ;  deer  bound  not  over  the  plain  ;  tlie  sluggisli 
bear  has  ceased  to  wind  through  the  swamps ;  the 
bloody  panther  does  not  spring  upon  his  prey ; 
w^olves  have  ceased  to  howl  upon  the  hills  ;  birds 
cannot  be  seen  in  the  branches  of  the  trees  ;  graceful 
warriors  guide  no  longer  their  well-shaped  canoes, 
and  beautiful  squaws  loiter  not  upon  the  plain,  nor 
pick  the  delicious  berries,  l^ow,  vast  fields  of  cotton, 
noisy  steamers,  huge  rafts  of  lumber,  towns  reared 
for  business,  disagreeable  corporation  laws,  harassing 
courts  of  justice,  mills,  factories,  and  everything  else 
that  is  calculated  to  destroy  the  beauty  of  a  country 
and  rob  man  of  his  quiet  and  native  independence, 
present  themselves  to  our  view." 

While  Bossu  was  at  the  Fort,  advices  were  brought 
that  the  Emperor  of  Coweta — for  the  early  writers 
distributed  imperial  and  kingly  honors  on  every 
hand  amongst  the  petty  forest  patriarchs  with  won- 
derous  profuseness — ^w^as  about  to  honor  the  French 
•with  a  visit.  Bossu  walked  forth  to  meet  this  mighty 
potentate,  and  as  he  took  him  by  the  hand,  the  guard 
who  accompanied  him  discharged  tl^eir  muskets,  and 
a  salute  was  also  fired  from  the  fort,  to  the  excessive 
gratification  of  the  emperor,  who,  like  many  dis- 
tinguished men  now  living,  found  great  glory  in  a 
noise  and  a  bad  smell.  As  he  alighted  from  his  horse 
and  advanced   with   deliberate   and   majestic  pace 


278  FRENCH   CHIVALRY   IN   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

toward  the  fort,  the  Europeans  walking  behind  him, 
enjoyed  an  excellent  opportunity  of  observing  his 
costume,  which  consisted  of  a  heav^y  plume  of  black 
feathers  in  his  topknot,  a  scarlet  uniform  coat  most 
gorgeously  bedizened  with  tinsel  lace,  a  white  linen 
shirt  modestly  flowing  from  beneath  it,  and  two  bare 
copper-colored  legs.  They  found  some  difficulty, 
according  to  Bossu,  in  preserving  the  gravity  proper 
for  the  occasion ;  although  they  might  possibly  have 
been  puzzled  to  establish  the  logical  relation  between 
true  grandeur  and  a  pair  of  breeches. 

Sitting  down  to  a  state  feast  prepared  for  him  by 
D'Aubant,  the  husband  of  the  fugitive  princess,  and 
then  the  successor  of  Montberaut  in  command  of  the 
post,  the  young  emperor — a  youth  of  eighteen — was 
much  gravelled  at  the  unaccustomed  knife  and  fork, 
but  a  wise  old  chief  who  accompanied  him  as  a  kind  of 
Mentor,  cut  the  knot  by  coolly  dismembering  a  turkey 
with  his  fingers,  gravely  remarking  that  "the  Master 
of  life  made  fingers  before  the  making  of  forks." 

A  savage  who  waited  behind  the  emperor's  chair, 
observing  the  Frenchmen  sedulous  in  seasoning  their 
boiled  beef  with  mustard,  asked  Beaudin,  an  officer 
who  had  lived  forty  years  amongst  the  Creeks,  what 
it  was  that  they  relished  so  much  ?  Beaudin  replied 
that  the  French  were  by  no  means  covetous  even  of 
the  best  of  their  possessions,  and  to  demonstrate  the 
liberality  he  boasted,  he  handed  the  Indian  bench- 


279 


man  a  generous  spoonful  of  the  fiery  condiment  with 
ostentatious  gravity.  The  savage  unhesitatingly  swal- 
lowed it ;  but  found  himself  quite  unable,  with  all  his 
Indian  fortitude,  to  hide  the  tingling  agony.  He 
made  divers  fearful  grimaces,  and  extraordinary 
contortions  of  body,  and  uttered  a  number  of  whoops 
indicative  of  his  feelings,  all  to  the  unbounded  merri- 
ment of  the  company.  But  at  last  he  imagined  him- 
self poisoned,  and  the  polite  commandant  was  fain  to 
appease  his  anger  and  his  pain  together,  by  the 
unfailing  panacea  of  a  good  glass  of  brandy. 

On  another  of  Bossu's  expeditions  through  the 
woods,  having  gone  quietly  to  sleep  near  the  river's 
bank,  rolled  up  in  a  corner  of  the  tent-cloth,  in  his 
bear  skin,  and  with  a  nice  string  of  fish  for  breakfast 
stowed  by  his  side,  he  was  startiingly  awakened  to 
find  himself  rapidly  propelled  by  some  invisible 
power  through  the  darkness,  towards  the  river.  He 
roared  lustily  for  help,  but  bestirring  himself  smartly, 
only  managed,  before  help  could  come,  to  free  him- 
self and  his  bear  skin,  just  in  season  to  see  his  tent- 
cloth  and  his  fish  go  under  water  in  the  jaws  of  an 
immense  alligator.  The  horrible  monster,  smelling 
the  fish,  and  not  very  particular  what  else  he  took, 
had  carelessly  seized  the  tent-cloth,  and  was  trund- 
ling ofi"  commander,  tent,  bed  and  all,  along  with  his 
luncheon  ;  quite  unintentionally,  but  with  reprehen- 
sible carelessness. 


280  FKENCH   CHIVALRY    IN    THE    SOUTHWEST. 

A  Choctaw  whom  Bossii  met,  having  been  bap- 
tized, and  happening  to  have  small  success  in  his 
hunting  just  afterwards,  conceived  that  his  baptism 
had  been  a  charm,  and  that  he  was  bewitched.  So 
going  to  Father  Lefevre,  who  had  "  converted  "  him, 
he  indignantly  told  him  that  his  "  medicine  "  was 
good  for  nothing,  for  that  since  he  had  received  it  he 
could  kill  no  deer,  and  he  told  him  to  take  off  the 
enchantment.  The  compliant  Jesuit,  sure  that  the 
baptism  had  safely  ticketed  the  red  man's  soul  for 
heaven,  readily  j)retended  to  go  through  a  reversal 
of  the  forms  of  the  sacrament ;  and  the  Indian,  sure 
enough,  shortly  afterwards,  killed  a  deer,  to  his  great 
relief  and  satisfaction,  and  was  never  a  whit  the 
worse  Christian. 

The  history  of  the  French  in  the  Southwest  would 
be  very  incomplete  without  a  sketch  of  the  fortunes 
and  influence  of  a  family,  who,  for  a  quarter  of  a 
century,  controlled  the  strong  tribes  of  the  Creeks, 
and  their  allies  of  the  neighboring  region,  and  by 
means  of  a  mingled  course  of  war  and  diplomacy, 
contrived  to  maintain  the  territory  and  independence 
of  the  tribes  by  balancing  agaiust  each  other  the 
power  of  the  Spaniards  and  of  the  United  States.  This 
is  the  family  of  McGillivray,  the  celebrated  half-breed 
Creek  chief;  including  beside  himself,  his  father, 
Lachlan  McGillivray,  his  sisters,  Sophia  and  Jean- 
nette,  and  his  brother-in-law,  the  roving  and  adven- 


ALEXANDER  MCGILLIVRAY.  281 

turous  Frenchman  Le  Clerc  Milfort,  not  to  mention 
the  celebrated  chief  Weatherford,  of  the  next  genera- 
tion, the  son  of  his  half-sister  Sehoy. 

LachJan  McGillivray,  the  son  of  respectable  Scotch 
parents,  a  youth  of  shrewd,  roving  and  adventurous 
character,  strong  constitution  and  unfailing  good 
temper  and  S23irits,  running  away  from  home,  had 
come  to  Charleston  about  the  year  1735 ;  and  engag- 
ing in  the  service  of  an  Indian  trader,  speedily  com- 
menced business  on  his  own  account  by  exchanging  a 
jack-knife  which  his  employer  gave  him,  with  an 
Indian  for  some  deer  skins.  From  this  insignificant 
beginning  he  rapidly  developed  an  extensive  and 
profitable  business,  and  by  skill,  courage,  and  good- 
nature, and  very  probably  also  by  means  of  some  secret 
leanings  towards  the  French,  the  ancient  and  faithful 
allies  of  the  Scottish  kingdom,  his  trading  operations 
extended  without  interruption,  even  to  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Fort  Toulonse.  Here  he  married  a  beautiful 
half-blood  Indian  girl,  Sehoy  Marchand,  whose  father, 
Captain  Marchand,  had  been  slain  while  command- 
ing the  fort,  by  his  mutinous  soldiers,  in  the  famine  in 
1722,  and  whose  mother  was  a  full-blooded  Creek  of 
the  family  of  the  Wind,  the  aristocracy  of  the  nation, 
and  her  Indian  name,  Sehoy,  a  hereditary  one  in  the 
family  from  time  immemorial.  Her  Lachlan  McGil- 
livray  marries ;  settles  himself  in  a  trading  post  at 
Little  Tallase,  and  here,  abont  1745,  is  born  Alex 


282  FRENCH   CHIVALRY   IN   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

aiider  McGilllvraj,  their  eldest  child  ;  his  character, 
as  lodian  legends  say,  having  been  prefigured  by  his 
mother's  dreams  of  great  piles  of  manuscripts,  ink 
and  paper,  and  great  heaps  of  books. 

The  trader,  thus  situated  and  connected,  grows 
rich  apace,  and  owns  two  valuable  plantations  and 
two  stores.  By  the  consent  of  his  wife,  to  whom, 
according  to  Indian  custom,  the  children  belonged, 
he  sends  Alexander,  now  fourteen,  to  school  at 
Charleston  for  some  little  time,  and  then  perches 
him  upon  a  counting-house  stool  at  Savannah.  But 
haggling  and  barter-trade  are  disgusting  to  him. 
Account-books  are  not  the  books  for  him ;  and 
neglecting  his  business,  he  was  ever  poring  over 
histories  and  travels.  By  advice  of  friends,  his  father 
wisely  accommodates  this  craving  after  knowledge, 
and  placing  him  in  charge  of  a  clergyman  of  his  own 
name — a  Scotch  Presbyterian  it  may  be  inferred — 
he  falls  with  avidity  to  systematic  study.  In  brief 
time  the  powerful  and  active  intellect  of  the  youth 
has  mastered  Latin  and  mastered  Greek,  and  his 
attainments  are  fair  in  general  literature  ;  and  now, 
as  he  ripens  into  early  and  ardent  manhood,  as  if  the 
civilized  part  of  his  nature  being  in  some  measure 
nurtured,  the  Indian  in  him  had  awakened,  and  was 
calling  for  wild  woods  and  savage  life ;  he  leaves 
books  and  cities,  mounts  his  horse,  and  hies  back  to 
the  beautiful  country  of  his  people,  the  Creeks. 


ALEXANDER     MOGTLLIVRAT.  283 

In  a  good  time  he   arrives,  for  tlie   Indians   are 
vexed  and  perplexed  by  the  lawless  and  brutal  con- 
duct of  the  Georgian  frontiersmen— a  race  whose  con- 
duct towards  the  red  men  seems  from  the  beginning, 
to  have  held  a  bad  pre-eminence  amongst  the  infinite 
wroncrs  inflicted  on  them  by  the  whites ;  and  already 
proud  and  confident  in  the  precocious  and  powerful 
talents  of  the  youth,  they  w^ere  looking  with  impa- 
tience  to  the  time  when  he  should  be   of  age   to 
assume  that   control   of  the  affiiirs  of  his   race,  to 
which  not  only  nature  had  ordained  him,  but  his 
descent  from  the  noble  family  of  the  "Wind  gave  him 
a  legitimate  title,  according  to  the  rude  Indian  law 
of  descents.     With  the  easy  confidence  of  born  great- 
ness, he  takes  his  place  ;  and  so  clear  and  strong  is 
his   immediate   exhibition  of  administrative   talent, 
that  the  British  authorities,  then  occupying  Florida, 
and  seeking  to  secure  in  their  interest  the  influence 
of  the  young  Creek  chief,  compliment  him  with  the 
rank  and  pay  of  a  colonel  in  His  Britannic  Majesty's 
service.     Bound  to  them  by  this  early  recognition 
and  testimony  of  his  value,  as  w^ell    as  through  his 
father,  a  staunch  royalist,  and  actuated  moreover  by 
the  continual  and  gratuitous  injuries  and  insults  put 
upon  his  nation  by  the  coarse  and  lawless  American 
backwoodsmen,  he   remains   all   his   life    faithfully 
attached  to  the  English  interest  as  against  the  United 
States. 


284:  FEENCH   CHIVALET   IN  THE   60UTHVVEST. 

McGillivray — this  is  about  1TT6 — is  holding  a 
grand  council  of  the  Creek  nation,  at  the  great  town 
of  Coweta  on  the  Chattahoochie.  While  the  business 
of  the  assembly  is  in  progress,  there  is  introduced  to 
him  a  certain  young  Frenchman,  handsome,  viva- 
cious, accomplished,  keenly  intelligent.  Himself 
French  by  the  quarter  blood,  and  in  these  other  points 
so  like,  it  is  not  singular  that  McGillivray  was 
pleased  with  this  new  acquaintance ;  and  Le  Clerc 
Milfort — for  this  was  he — on  his  part,  with  the  singu- 
lar especial  j)roclivity  towards  savage  life  so  marked 
in  the  French,  enchanted  with  the  beauty  of  the 
country,  the  plenteous  hospitality  and  ease  of  the 
Indian  life,  the  wide  field  for  exciting  adventure,  the 
absolute  freedom  of  the  place  and  the  time,  and  quite 
fascinated,  moreover,  by  the  splendor  of  the  chief- 
tain's intellect,  was  not  long  in  accepting  an  invita- 
tion to  become  a  permanent  inmate  of  McGillivray's 
family ;  and  during  a  period  of  twenty  years  these 
two  remarkable  men,  in  conjunction,  managed  in 
peace  and  war,  the  government  of  the  Creeks. 
McGillivray  was  no  coward,  and  together  with  Col. 
Tait,  a  British  agent,  had  in  person  headed  more 
than  one  expedition  against  the  Whigs  of  Georgia, 
during  the  E-e volution a;-y  War.  But  his  slender 
frame  and  weak  health,  his  diplomatic  and  intellectual 
turn  of  mind,  fitted  him  rather  for  the  council  and  the 
cabinet,  than  for  the  field ;  while  ^dilfort,  daring  and 


FOREST   DIPLOMACY.  285 

entliusiastic,  of  iron  constitution  and  restless  activity, 
a  trained  soldier,  and  skillful  partisan,  was  the  very 
man  to  lead  the  Indians  in  their  desultory  warfare 
with  the  serai-civilized  borderers.  So  he  marries  the 
beautiful  sister  of  the  chieftain,  and  is  appointed 
Tustenuggee,  or  grand  war-chief  of  the  nation. 

During  the  Revolutionary  War,  the  Creeks  unceas- 
ingly harass  the  Georgian  frontier,  Milfort  taking 
the  field  as  their  leader,  while  McGillivray,  remaining 
at  home,  oversees  ^enlistments  and  manages  refrac- 
tory chieftains ;  his  enmity  against  the  Georgians  yet 
further  inflamed  by  the  misfortunes  of  his  father,  who 
is  forced  at  the  evacuation  of  Savannah  by  the  Brit- 
ish to  flee  with  them,  and  who,  although  he  secured 
a  large  property  to  carry  with  him,  lost  all  his  real 
estate  ;  which,  to  the  value  of  more  than  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  was  summarily  confiscated  by 
the  provincials;  an  injury  which  the  chief,  who 
amidst  all  his  patriotism  and  politics  had  always  a 
keen  eye  to  his  personal  profit  and  aggrandizement, 
neither  forgot  nor  forgave. 

But  the  Spaniards,  meanwhile,  have  re-conquered 
Florida  from  England.  At  Pensacola  resides  William 
Panton,  like  McGillivray 's  father  a  Scotchman,  a 
wealthy  and  extensive  Indian  trader,  and  no  small 
politician.  He  has  bartered  the  use  of  his  powerful 
influence  amongst  the  Indian  tribes  south  of  the  Ten- 
nessee River,   with    the    Spanish    government,    for 


286  FREXCH   CHrVALRY   IN   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

certain  special  privileges ;  and  is  now,  as  chief 
partner  of  the  great  tij-m  of  Panton,  Leslie  &  Co., 
conducting  a  business,  whose  out-stations  are  all  over 
Florida,  from  the  St.  Mary's  to  the  Chickasaw  bluffs, 
whose  central  depot  at  Pensacola  usually  contains  fifty 
thousand  dollars'  worth  of  goods,  and  employs  fifteen 
clerks,  and  for  whose  carrying  trade  fifteen  schooners, 
all  owned  by  the  firm,  were  busy  up  and  down  the 
coast. 

McGillivray  is  dropped  by  the  British,  who,  beaten 
out  of  the  country,  have  no  further  use  for  him.  Pan- 
ton,  well  aware  of  his  influence  and  appreciating  his 
talents,  seeks  to  engage  him  in  the  interest  of  Spain  ; 
with  the  design  of  securing  to  his  Spanish  allies  a  valu- 
able auxiliary,  and  to  himself  McGillivray 's  assist- 
ance in  his  trade,  which  ends  weretobe  accomplished 
by  demonstrating  the  value  of  the  Spanish  alliance  to 
his  nation,  and  moreover,  by  the  direct  personal 
advancement  of  the  chieftain  himself.  Panton  brino:s 
him  to  Pensacola;  and  on  behalf  of  the  Creek  and 
Seminole  nations  he  engages  that  the  influence  of 
Spain  shall  be  paramount  in  their  territories,  and 
that  Spain  shall  have  all  their  trade ;  and  for  himself 
he  receives  the  appointment  of  commissary  in  the 
Spanish  service,  with  the  rank  and  pay  of  a  colonel. 

For  choosing  the  Spanish  alliance,  McGillivray 's 
reasons,  aside  from  his  private  aggrandizement,  were 
amply  suflicient.     His  primary  purpose — the  central 


ALEXANDER   MCGILLIVEAY.  287 

purpose  of  liis  life — was  the  independence  and  pros- 
perity of  liis  own  people.  While  the  Americans  had 
exiled  his  father,  confiscated  his  estates,  threatened 
death  to  himself  and  extermination  to  his  tribe,  and 
had  already,  under  the  transparent  pretence  of  an  il- 
legal and  unratified  treaty,  appropriated  a  large  and 
valuable  portion  of  the  Creek  territory,  known  as 
the  Oconee  lands,  the  Spaniards  wanted  no  land,  but 
only  trade,  and  they  offered  commercial  advantages 
and  personal  honor. 

Henceforward  McGillivray  appears  almost  solely 
as  a  diplomatist.  The  provincial  Congress  had 
appointed  commissioners  to  treat  with  the  southern 
Indians,  who  sent  to  summon  the  chief  to  meet  them 
and  enter  into  a  treaty.  He  answered  complaisantly 
and  politely,  with  apparent  acquiescence,  but  avoided 
meeting  them.  They  departed  in  disappointment ; 
and  contrary  to  their  wishes,  the  Georgian  commis- 
sioners who  had  accompanied  them,  protesting  against 
their  intended  plans,  proceeded  alone  to  conclude  a 
treaty  with  the  chiefs  of  only  two  towns,  who  with 
sixty  warriors  were  the  only  Indians  present ;  and  the 
State  legislature  made  a  county  out  of  some  of  the 
land  thus  pretended  to  be  ceded,  which  lasted  only 
two  weeks,  the  settlers  being  driven  out  by  the  Indian 
lords  of  the  soil. 

Congress  next  appointed  a  superintendent  for  the 
Creeks,  Dr.  James  White,  who  wrote  to  McGillivray 


288  FRENCH   CHIVALET   IN   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

from  Cusseta,  announcing  the  fact.  Tlie  chief  replied 
in  a  long  and  involved  epistle,  complaining  of  the 
Georgian  grievances,  anticipating  redress,  and 
appointing  time  and  place  for  an  interview.  Tliey 
met  in  April,  1Y8T,  and  White  forthwith  demanded 
the  acknowledgment  of  the  boundary  claimed  by  the 
Georgians.  McGillivray  adroitly  made  a  counter- 
proposition,  that  the  United  States  ought  first  to  estab- 
lish a  government  under  federal  authority  south  of 
the  Alabama ;  and  promising  that  if  they  should, 
he  would  then  ratify  the  line  required,  and  giving 
the  checkmated  superintendent  until  the  first  of 
August  to  consider  on  it,  he  departed. 

All  this  time  the  extensive  trade  of  the  Creeks  was 
shut  to  the  United  States,  and  the  Indians,  incensed 
beyond  measure  at  the  greedy  seizure  of  the  Oconee 
lands,  incessantly  depredated  upon  the  border,  to  the 
great,  wrath  and  injury  of  the  Georgian  squatters, 
who  would  fain  have  procured  the  invasion  of  the 
Creeks  by  a  national  army. 

Bat  Congress  is  reluctant  to  enter  into  another 
war  ;  and  a  third  time  sends  other  commissioners  to 
negotiate  with  McGillivray.  The  powerful  and  fear- 
less chieftain  now  absolutely  refuses  to  treat  unless 
the  Georgians  shall  first  be  removed  from  the  Oconee 
lands,  which  the  commissioners  cannot  do,  and  again 
they  go  bootless  home  ;  while  McGillivray,  personally 
interested  in  Panton's  extensive   trade,  valued,  flat- 


FOREST  DIPLOMACY.  289 

tered,  and  amply  supplied  by  the  Spanish  government, 
implicitly  obeyed  by  the  Creeks  and  by  many  of  the 
Choctaws,  Cherokees  and  SeminoBs,  and  even  suppli- 
cated to  by  the  American  Congress,  is  qnite  able  to 
demand  his  own  terms ;  and  the  indefatigable  Tus- 
tennggee  and  his  warriors  still  unmercifully  vex  and 
devastate  the  disputed  border." 

The  proud,  bold  and  wary  "  Alabama  Talleyrand  " 
as  Pickett  the  historian  calls  him,  scornfully  refused 
to  trust  the  pledge  of  personal  honor,  upon  which 
commissioners  from  Georgia  next  invited  him  to 
meet  them  ;  evaded  repeated  like  attempts  by  Gover- 
nor Pinckney  of  South  Carolina  ;  and  kept  the  com- 
missioners of  the  federal  government  long  waiting  and 
urging  him  to  a  meeting,  on  liis  frontier. 

McGillivray  at  length  agreed  to  meet  them  ;  and 
knowing  well  what  use  to  make  of  the  Spanish  fears 
that  he  might  come  to  an  accommodation  wdth  them, 
and  ever  influenced  primarily  by  the  interests  of  his 
nation,  he  wrote  to  Panton  an  ambiguous  letter  con- 
taining the  following  triumphant  and  powerful  pass- 
age: 

"  In  order  to  accommodate  us,  the  commissioners  are  complaisant 
enough  to  postpone  it  (the  meeting)  till  the  15th  of  next  month,  and 
one  of  them,  the  late  Chief  Justice  Osborne,  remains  all  the  time  at 
Rock  Landing.  *  *  »  in  this  do  you  not  see  my  cause  of  tri- 
umph, in  bringing  these  conquerors  of  the  Old,  and  masters  of  the 
New  World,  as  they  call  themselves,  to  bend  and  supplicate  for  peace, 

13 


290  FRENCH   CHIVALRY    m   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

at  the  feet  of  a   people   whom,  shortly  before,  they  despised  and 
marked  out  for  destruction  ?" 

Leaving  Panton  and  the  Spanish  authorities  in 
considerable  pain  lest  he  should  in  some  way  put 
himself  into  the  hands  of  the  Americans,  McGilliv- 
raj,  with  two  thousand  warriors,  met  the  American 
authorities  at  Eock  Landing  on  the  Oconee;  and  with 
his  usual  polite  courtesy,  so  encouraged  the  commis- 
sioners that  they  considered  it  safe  to  explain  the 
treaty  they  desired,  which,  as  usual,  stipulated  that 
the  boundary  required  by  Georgia  should  be  acknow- 
ledged ;  and  for  other  concessions  from  the  Indians. 
McGillivray,  after  the  form  of  consulting  with  his 
chiefs,  astounded  the  commissioners  next  morning  by 
coolly  refusing  their  terms  as  unjust ;  and  in  spite  of 
their  effort| he  broke  up  his  encampment  and  depart- 
ed, writing  them  a  curt  letter  of  explanation,  which 
ended  as  follows : 

"  "We  sincerely  desire  a  peace,  but  cannot  sacrifice  much  to  obtain 
it.  As  for  a  statement  of  our  disputes,  the  honorable  Congress  has 
long  since  been  in  possession  of  it,  and  has  declared  that  they  will 
decide  on  them,  on  the  principles  of  justice  and  humanity.  'Tistbat 
we  expect." 

The  commissioners  had  to  return  in  dissatisfaction. 
President  Washington,  unwilling  to  undertake  a  war, 
whose  expense  he  computed  at  fifteen  millions,  re- 
solved to  attempt  a  personal  interview  with  McGill- 


TREATY   AT   NEW   TOEK.  2^1 

ivraj;  and  Col.  Marinus  Willet,  dispatched  on  a 
secret  agency  to  negotiate  for  his  journey  to  New 
York,  and  succeeding,  returned  with  him  overland, 
the  distinguished  chief  being  everywhere  received 
and  treated  with  the  utmost  attention  and  honor. 

The  Spanish  governor,  in  great  alarm,  sent  an  agent 
to  E"ew  York  to  embarrass  their  proceedings,  who 
however  was  so  closely  watched  as  to  be  unable  to 
do  any  harm.  A  treaty  was  at  last  concluded,  Au- 
gust 1790,  by  which  McGillivray  recognized  the 
boundary  line  claimed  by  the  Georgians,  and  stipu- 
lated to  substitute  for  his  existing  relations  with  Spain, 
similar  ones  with  the  United  States,  for  which  an 
annual  payment  of  fifteen  hundred  dollars  was  to  be 
made  to  the  nation,  and  their  territory  guaran- 
teed to  them.  There  was,  however,  a  secret  treaty 
signed  by  "Washington,  Knox,  McGillivray  and  the 
chiefs  with  him,  providing  for  salaries  and  medals  to 
the  chiefs  of  the  negotiating  tribes  ;  and  for  the  half- 
breed  ruler  himself,  the  appointments  of  United  States 
agent,  and  brigadier-general,  with  twelve  hundred 
dollars  a  year. 

He  returns  with  half  a  year's  pay  in  advance.  The 
terms  of  the  treaty  being  published,  for  the  first  time 
McGillivray  begins  to  lose  the  confidence  at  once  of  his 
tribe,  of  the  Spaniards,  and  of  Panton.  A  freebooting 
adventurer,  named  Bowles,  a  man  of  many  strange 
experiences,  in  the  English  interest,  intrigues  within 


293  FRENCH    CHIVALRT    IN    THE   SOUTHWEST. 

the  nation  against  the  chief,  who,  however,  jonmeys 
about  and  negotiates  awhile,  first  procures  Bowles 
to  be  sent  to  Madrid  in  irons  and  then  receives  from 
his  Catholic  Majesty  the  appointment  of  superinten- 
dent-general of  the  Creeks,  with  an  annual  salary  of 
two  thousand  dollars,  soon  increased  to  thirty-five 
hundred. 

Thus  supported  by  the  two  powerful  nations  whom 
he  played  against  each  other,  and  even  firmer  than 
ever  in  his  own  hereditary  authority,  he  spent  a  year 
or  two  in  his  natural  atmosphere  of  diplomacy  and 
intrigue,  bamboozling  the  American  authorities  with 
multiplied  excuses  for  delaying  to  execute  the  treaty 
of  l^ew  York,  and  still  privately  maintaining  his 
close  relations  with  the  Spaniards ;  seemingly  with 
perfect  ease,  avoiding  to  commit  himself  into  the 
hands  of  either,  and  skillfully  and  wisely  support- 
ing his  home  administration.  He  died  in  February, 
1793,  of  a  complication  of  disorders ;  probably 
chiefly  of  an  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  and  of  gout 
in  the  stomach. 

"  General  McGillivray,"  says  Pickett,  "  was  six  feet 
high,  spare  made,  and  remarkably  erect  in  person 
and  carriage.  His  eyes  were  large,  dark,  and  piercing. 
His  forehead  was  so  peculiarly  shaped  that  the  old 
Indian  countrymen  often  spoke  of  it;  it  commenced 
expanding  at  his  eyes,  and  widened  considerably  at 
the  top  of  his  head  ;  it  was  a  bold  and  lofty  forehead. 


CHAEACTER    OF   MCGILLIVRAT.  293 

His  fingers  were  long  and  tapering,  and  he  wielded 
a  pen  with  the  greatest  rapidity.  His  face  was  hand- 
some, and  indicative  of  quick  thought  and  much  saga- 
city. Unless  interested  in  conversation,  he  was  dis- 
posed to  be  taciturn ;  but  even  then  was  polite  and 
respectful." 

For  the  control  of  men,  and  the  conduct  of  politi- 
cal intrigues,  McGillivray  was  probably  the  greatest 
man  ever  born  upon  this  continent.  He  was,  as  seems 
to  have  been  necessary  to  diplomatic  success,  pretty 
thoroughly  unscrupulous  as  to  the  means  he  used ; 
and,  indeed,  was  in  his  public  character  a  false  and 
crafty  man ;  but  such  characteristics  are  the  less  to 
be  wondered  at  in  one  of  Indian  blood,  whose  life  was 
spent  in  maintaining  a  small  and  feeble  nation  amid 
the  encroachments,  intrigues,  and  attacks  of  others 
immeasurably  stronger.     As  an  individual,  he  was 
honorable,  courteous,  hospitable,  and  generous  even 
to  chivalry.     At  his  residence  at  Little  Tallase  and 
the  Hickory  Ground,  he  was  accustomed  nobly  to 
entertain  all  reputable  strangers  and  visitors  of  pub- 
lic character. 

Three  wretches,  an  Indian,  a  white  renegade,  and 
a  negro  having  waylaid  and  slain  a  party  of  his 
guests,  he  sent  promptly  in  pursuit,  and  although 
two  of  them  succeeded  in  escaping,  he  caused  the 
third  to  be  carried  to  the  place  of  his  guilt,  and 
there  hung.    A  poor  Choctaw  Indian  being  sick, 


294  FRENCH   CHIVALKT   IN   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

apprehended  that  the  native  doctors  had  given 
him  over.  In  this  case  the  gentlemen  of  the  savage 
faculty  were  accustomed  to  verify  their  diagnoses  by 
recommending  that  the  patient  be  forthwith  put  out 
of  his  pain,  whereupon  two  of  the  nearest  relatives, 
in  full  reliance  upon  their  professional  skill,  jumped 
upon  him  and  strangled  him  out  of  hand.  Crawling 
desperately  off  to  escape  this  prescription,  while  the 
consultation  was  progressing  before  his  door,  the  poor 
wretch  managed  to  reach  the  Creek  nation,  was 
kindly  received  by  McGillivray,  and  by  him  caused 
to  be  cured.  He  returned  home,  but  arrived  only 
in  time  for  the  final  ceremonies  of  dancing  round  his 
empty  death-scaffold,  and  burning  it,  whereupon  they 
all  ran  away,  one  man  only,  cornered  in  his  house, 
insisting  that  he  was  a  ghost,  and  exhorting  him  to 
hurry  back  to  the  land  of  spirits.  Fearing  that  he 
should  really  be  sent  thither,  he  returned  to  the 
Creeks  and  spent  the  rest  of  his  life  under  their  pro- 
tection. 

A  party  of  unhappy  fugitives  from  amongst  the 
insurgents  of  1781,  in  the  Natchez  -district,  arrived, 
all  haggard  with  their  desperate  forest  journey,  at 
the  Hickory  Ground.  In  imminent  danger  from  the 
warriors,  who  believed  them  whigs,  the  Creeks  being 
then  in  arms  for  the  royal  cause,  they  were  only 
saved  by  the  presence  of  mind  of  McGillivray's 
negro   body-servant,   Paro,    who,   his   master  being 


WILLIAM   A.    BOWLES. 


295 


absent,  arrived  at  the  moment,  and  would  have  unde- 
ceived the  Indians,  but  in  vain ;  until  one  warrior 
cried  out,  "  If  you  tell  the  truth,  make  the  paper 
talk."  Taking  the  hint,  Paro  asked  the  travellers 
for  their  journal.  They  had  none.  Had  they  any 
written  documents  ?  One  of  them  had  by  chance  an 
old  letter  in  his  pocket ;  from  which,  by  Paro's  direc- 
tion he  proceeded  slowly  and  gravely  to  pretend 
to  read  a  complete  history  of  their  flight  from  Natch- 
ez ;  upon  which  the  Indians,  well  knowing  what 
conduct  would  meet  the  wishes  of  their  great 
chieftain,  gave  up  their  evil  purposes,  received  and 
refreshed  the  weary  wanderers,  and  set  them  forward 
again,  rested  and  recruited,  on  their  journey  to  the 
eastward. 

Leclerc  Milfort,  a  year  or  two  after  HcGillivray's 
death,  returned  to  France,  where  he  published  an 
account  of  his  life  among  the  Creeks.  And  it  was 
not  long  before  the  common  ruin  of  the  Indian  tribes, 
these  two  able  leaders  being  gone,  began  to  come 
upon  the  Creeks,  until  they  were  utterly  overcome, 
and  scattered  away  from  their  native  seats. 

The  name  of  William  Augustus  Bowles  was  men- 
tioned above.  Although  his  life  and  adventures  are 
not  strictly  within  the  line  of  this-  narrative,  his  cha- 
racter was  so  extraordinary  and  his  experiences  so 
romantic  as  to  justify  the  brief  digression  necessary 
to  sketch  them. 


296  FRENCH   CHIVALRY   IN   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

Born  in  Maryland  in  1762,  Bowles,  a  precocious, 
unruly  and  daring  boy,  at  the  age  of  fourteen  en- 
listed as  a  private  in  the  British  army,  served  a  year 
against  his  countrymen,  became  an  ensign,  accom- 
panied his  regiment  to  Jamaica,  and  thence  to 
Pensacola.  Here  he  is  disranked  for  insubordina- 
tion; and  thoroughly  disgusted  with  military  dis- 
cipline, and  a  wild,  restless,  and  fearless  rover  by 
nature,  he  contemptuously  strips  off  his  uniform, 
flings  it  into  the  sea,  and  flees  northward  into  the 
forest  with  some  Creeks.  Living  upon  the  Tallapoosa 
river  for  several  years,  he  thoroughly  acquires  the 
Indian  language ;  and  marrying  the  daughter  of  a 
chief,  he  rises  to  considerable  influence  amongst  the 
savages,  'and  the  white  traders  and  vagabonds  of  the 
region.  Indeed,  few  men  have  ever  possessed  more 
completely  the  qualifications  of  a  commander  of 
savages,  thieves,  and  pirates  ;  for  he  had  a  noble  and 
commanding  person,  an  insinuating  and  prepossess- 
ing address,  exceedingly  handsome  and  expressive 
features,  a  quick,  comprehensive,  versatile  and  power- 
ful intellect,  the  most  daring  personal  courage,  and 
at  the  same  time  a  heart  without  feeling,  principle, 
or  honor — utterly  abandoned  and  debased. 

At  the  head  of  a  party  of  Creeks,  he  assists  Gene- 
ral Campbell  in  his  stubborn  defence  of  Pensacola 
against  Governor  Galvez  in  1781  ;  accompanies  tlie 
dislodged  garrison    to   New   York ;    ftilling  readily 


ESTABLISHES  A  TRADINa   POST.  297 

again  into  the  habitudes  of  civilized  life,  yet  gravit- 
ating to  the  loosest,  he  joins  a  company  of  come- 
dians, goes  with  them  to  J^ew  Providence,  the  capi- 
tal of  the  Bahamas,  and  here  supports  himself 
successfully  -by  acting,  and  by  painting  portraits  ; 
for  in  this  elegant  pursuit  also  he  was  fitted  to 
become  even  a  master :  Lord  Dunmore,  having  a  quar- 
rel with  the  great  Indian  trading-house  of  Panton, 
Leslie  &  Co.,  which  had  become  closely  leagued,  as 
has  already  been  stated,  with  the  Spanish  authorities 
in.  Florida,  and  with  McGillivray,  now  selected 
Bowles  to  establish  a  trading-house  on  the  Chatta- 
hoochie  for  the  purpose  of  injuring  the  business  of 
the  obnoxious  firm.  Busily  bestirring  himself  in  this 
enterprise,  known  already  as  a  powerful  and  danger- 
ous intriguer,  McGillivray,  whom  Bowles  hated  and 
despised,  and  whose  interests  were  endangered,  sends 
word  to  him  by  Milfort  that  if  he  does  not  leave 
the  nation  in  twenty-four  hours  his  ears  will  be  taken 
off.  Knowing  that  McGillivray  could  fulfill  the  threat, 
and  probably  considering  that  his  head  would  most 
likely  accompany  his  ears,  he  quickly  flees  back  to 
l^ew  Providence,  and  along  with  a  delegation  of 
Creeks,  Seminoles,  and  Cherokees,  is  sent  to  England, 
professedly  to  assist  in  soliciting  government  aid  to 
the  tribes  in  repelling  the  aggressions  of  the  Ameri- 
cans. Here  he  is  well  received,  enriched  with  many 
presents,  and  returning  to  'New  Providence,  embarks 

13* 


298  FRENCH   CHIVALBY  IN  THE   SOUTHWEST. 

in  a  schooner  which  he  teaches  his  Indians  to  help 
him  navigate,  and  cruises  up  and  down  the  Gulf 
against  Panton's  commerce.  He  takes  his  vessels, 
runs  them  up  obscure  bayous,  and  around  the  plun- 
dered goods  he  and  his  savage  crew,  along  with  aban- 
doned whites,  make  the  lonelj  woods  and  swamps 
resound  with  the  noise  of  their  mad  debauchery. 
Lavishly  distributing  his  spoils  amongst  the  Indians, 
his  influence  over  them  grows  apace  ;  and  im]3udently 
entering  the  Creek  nation,  he  openly  excites  opposi- 
tion to  McGillivray,  who  had  just  returned  from  New 
York,  and  against  whom  there  was  already  some  dis- 
satisfaction on  account  of  the  treaty  then  made. 
McGillivray  departs  to  'New  Orleans ;  Bowles  and 
his  partisans  says  he  will  never  dare  show  his  face 
upon  the  Coosa  again.  But  he  comes  back,  never- 
theless ;  and  the  unlucky  Bowles,  whose  schemes, 
like  all  those  of  unbounded  villains,  seeming  to  lack 
any  coherence  or  power,  and  to  possess  some  inherent 
fatality  of  ill  success,  being  seized  by  his  contrivance 
is  sent  in  chains  to  the  Spanish  governor  at  New 
Orleans,,  and  thence  to  Madrid.  Here  he  is  closely 
imprisoned,  and  is  long  beset  with  offers  of  high 
rank  and  large  pay,  if  he  will  take  service  with  Spain 
and  use  in  her  behalf  his  Indian  influence.  But, 
probably  from  his  intense  hatred  towards  McGilliv- 
ray, he  obstinately  refused.  The  Spaniards,  count- 
ing upon  his  reputation  as  a  debauchee,  change  their 


IMPEISONED   BY   THE   SPANISH.  299 

tactics,  and  while  keeping  him  in  safe  confinement, 
furnish  him  splendid  apartments,  many  servants,  and 
all  manner  of  luxurious  living.  He  eats,  drinks,  and, 
is  merry,  but  still  refuses.  Then  they  threaten  him 
with  transportation  to  the  pestilent  dungeons  of  Man- 
illa ;  and  the  obstinate  and  reckless  deviltry  of  the 
man  still  holding  out,  they  send  him  there  in  irons, 
and  there  he  remains  three  or  four  years,  until  in 
1Y9T,  he  is  ordered  back  to  Spain.  Hearing  on  the 
voyage  that  Spain  and  England  are  at  war,  he  escapes 
at  Ascension  Island,  and  by  way  of  Sierra  Leone 
reaches  England ;  is  welcomed  by  Mr.  Pitt  and  the 
Duke  of  Portland,  again  munificently  provided  with 
the  resources  due  to  so  serviceable  a  villain,  and 
again  dispatched  in  an  armed  schooner  detailed  for 
that  service,  to  cruise  again  against  Panton  in  the 
Gulf.  Here,  wrecked  near  the  mouth  of  the  Apal- 
achicola,  he  is  discovered  by  EUicott,  American  com- 
missioner to  run  the  southern  boundary  line  of 
Alabama  and  Mississippi ;  and  obtaining  provisions 
from  that  officer,  Bowles  in  return  su2)plies  him  many 
valuable  charts  and  directions  for  the  navigation  of 
the  intricate  waters  around  the  peninsula  of  Florida. 
In  his  conversations  with  Ellicott  the  freebooter 
repeatedly  avows  the  most  bitter  enmity  to  the 
Americans  and  to  Spain ;  and  his  intention  to  main- 
tain an  unending  warfare  upon  the  Florida  ports  of 
the  latter  power,  with  the  Creek  warribrs ;  whom  he 


300  FRENCH   CHIVALRY    IN    THE   SOUTHWEST. 

called  "  his  people  "  as  if  he  were  the  chief  of  the 
tribe.  Shortly  penetrating  again  into  the  Creek 
nation,  he  again  began  to  intrigue  for  the  breaking 
up  of  the  good  nnderstanding  which  was  at  last 
beginning  to  be  established  between  the  savages  and 
the  United  States,  stirred  up  all  the  elements  of  dis- 
cord and  unquiet,  and  even  levied  open  war  upon  his 
enemies,  taking  the  fort  at  St.  Mark's  and  plundering 
Panton's  store  there. 

But  the  end  of  his  world-wide  rovings  and  multi- 
plied and  outrageous  crimes  approached.  A  large 
reward  being  secretly  offered  for  his  capture,  he  was 
suddenly  seized  in  1803,  at  a  great  Indian  feast  got 
up  for  the  purpose,  pinioned,  and  sent  down  the  Tom- 
bigbee  imder  guard  of  a  canoe's  crew  of  warriors. 
His  guard  falling  asleep  in  the  night,  the  ready 
prisoner  gnawed  apart  his  rope  fetters,  crept  to  the 
canoe,  paddled  across  the  river,  and  fled  away  into 
the  canebrake.  But  by  unaccountable  oversight 
omitting  to  set  the  canoe  adrift,  his  captors,  awaking 
early,  spied  it  on  the  other  side,  swam  the  river,  fol- 
lowed in  his  trail,  seized  him  once  more  before  noon, 
and  carried  him  to  Mobile.  Thence  he  was  sent  to 
Havana,  and  after  some  years,  ended  in  the  dungeons 
of  the  Moro,  a  life  of  as  romantic,  varied,  and  des- 
perate adventure ;  of  as  mingled  and  incongruous 
genius,  fortitude,  boldness,  dexterity,  debauchery, 
aud  crime,  as  perhaps  ever  fell  to  the  lot  of  man. 


THE  NAPOLEONIST  F.EFUGEES.  301 

Long  after  the  end  of  the  career  of  McGillivray 
and  Milfort,  when  the  territory  of  Alabama  had  been 
organized,  and  when  the  Indian  title  to  large  portions 
of  their  hereditary  lands  had  been  extinguished,  still 
another  band  of  Frenchmen  made  a  persevering, 
though  ill-conducted  and  abortive  effort  to  establish 
themselves  upon  those  fertile  regions. 

Considerable  numbers  of  Napoleonist  refugees, 
driven  from  France  after  the  imprisonment  of  the 
great  Emperor  at  St.  Helena,  had  gathered  to  Phila- 
delphia ,  among  whom  were  men  of  ability  and  emi- 
nence, and  many  lovely  and  accomplished  women. 
Count  Lefevre  Desnouettes  had  been  a  lieutenant- 
general  of  cavalry  under  Bonaparte ;  had  been 
present  at  the  terrific  siege  of  Saragossa;  and 
had  accompanied  his  master  in  the  frightful  retreat 
from  Moscow.  Handsome,  graceful,  and  active,  he 
was  the  most  splendid  horseman  of  his  time.  Napo- 
leon was  much  attached  to  him,  gave  him  many  gifts, 
and  procured  for  him  to  wife  the  sister  of  the 
wealthy  banker  Lafitte.  At  Fontainebleau,  it  was  Des- 
nouettes whom  JSTapoleon  embraced  for  all  the  officers 
in  testimony  of  the  affection  and  sorrow  with  which 
he  parted  from  them  on  his  way  to  his  exile  at  Elba. 

Colonel  Nicolas  Raoul,  another  of  Napoleon's 
veterans,  had  accompanied  his  master  to  Elba  ;  and 
when  he  escaped  thence,  had  commanded  the  little 
advanced  guard  of  the  slender  army  with  which  the 


302  FRENCH   CHIVALRY    IN   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

emperor  set  out  upon  the  famous  triumphant  pro- 
gress from  Cannes  to  Paris.  Eaoul  was  a  large  and 
noble-looking  man,  irascible  and  obstinate,  and  a 
fearless  and  impetuous  soldier.  His  wife,  a  beauti- 
ful Neapolitan,  marchioness  of  Sinibaldi,  had  been  a 
ladj  of  honor  at  the  court  of  Murat's  wife,  Queen 
Caroline  of  Naples. 

Marshal  Grouchy,  a  middle-sized  and  unmilitarj 
looking  man,  although  also  in  Philadelphia,  was  un- 
popular with  the  refugees,  who  imputed  to  him  the 
loss  of  the  field  of  Waterloo,  on  which  subject  he 
waged  a  newspaper  war  with  them ;  and  for  which, 
or  other  reasons,  he  did  not  himself  come  to  Ala- 
bama, although  one  of  his  sons,  a  captain  in  the 
French  army,  afterwards  did. 

General  Count  Bertrand  Clausel,  who  had  served 
with  success  throughout  Bonaparte's  campaigns ; 
Henry  L'Allemand,  lieutenant-general  of  artillery  of 
the  imperial  guard,  who  married  a  niece  of  Stephen 
Girard ;  his  brother  Charles ;  Col.  J.  J.  Cluis,  for- 
merly aid  to  Lefebvre,  Marshal  Duke  of  Rovigo, 
secretary  to  the  same  when  afterwards  chief  of  the 
police  of  Paris,  and  who  at  one  time  had  had  charge 
of  Napoleon's  royal  prisoner,  Ferdinand  the  Seventh 
of  Spain;  were  also  among  the  refugee  French  at 
Philadelpliia. 

Several  men  of  civil  or  literary  reputations  were 
also  there  at  the   same   time;   among  whom  were 


"  THE  VINE   AND   OLIVE   COMPANY."  803 

Peniers,  who,  as  a  member  of  the  JSTational  Assembly, 
had  voted  for  the  death  of  Lewis  the  Sixteenth; 
Lackanal,  who  had  done  the  like,  and  who  had  after- 
wards been  at  the  head  of  the  Department  of  Public 
Instruction  under  Napoleon ;  Simon  Chaudron,  whose 
residence  at  Philadelphia  was  a  well-known  resort  for 
the  polite  and  witty,  whose  literary  powers  and  attain- 
ments were  great,  and  who  had  acquired  no  incon- 
siderable reputation  as  editor,  poet,  writer  and 
speaker ;  and  others. 

These  gentlemen  deputed  Nicholas  S.  Parmentier 
to  obtain  from  Congress  a  grant  of  territory  some- 
where upon  the  public  domain,  upon  which  they 
intended  to  establish  a  colony,  which  was  done  March 
4th,  1817,  by  the  votes  of  that  body,  authorizing  them 
to  purchase  four  townships,  at  two  dollars  an  acre,  on 
a  credit  of  fourteen  years ;  the  only  other  condition 
being  that  they  should  introduce  and  practise  the  cul- 
tivation of  the  vine  and  the  olive ;  a  stipulation  from 
which  theh-  association  was  often  named  "  Tlie  Yine 
and  Olive  Company." 

After  some  exploration  and  correspondence,  it  was 
determined  to  settle  near  the  junction  of  the  Black 
Warrior  and  Tombigbee  Kivers;  and  the  company, 
of  three  hundred  and  forty  grantees,  each  entitled  to 
a  share  of  from  eighty  to  four  hundred  and  eighty 
acres  of  land,  a  country  lot  and  a  town  lot,  set  sail  for 
Mobile  in  the  schooner  McDonough.     After  a  very 


304  FRENCH   CHIVALRY   IN   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

narrow  escape  from  shipwreck  upon  Mobile  Point, 
they  reached  the  city ;  and  having  been  hospitably 
received  and  aided  in  many  ways,  both  there  and  by 
the  landed  gentlemen  in  the  vicinity,  they  at  last 
established  themselves  upon  the  spot  selected,  near 
the  White  Bluff  on  the  Tombigbee.  Erecting  scat- 
tered cabins  here  and  there  amongst  the  thick  forest 
of  trees  and  of  cane  which  covered  the  site  of  their 
estate,  or  in  the  prairie  openings  which  dotted  it, 
they  cleared  little  patches  of  ground,  and  put  in  tem- 
porary crops  for  immediate  provision,  until  some  defi- 
nite location  and  partition  should  be  made.  After  a 
time  the  grant  was  surveyed  and  laid  off  into  town- 
ships and  sections;  and  a  town  was  laid  out  and 
named  Demopolis — ^The  City  of  the  People. 

Complicated  and  grievous  disasters,  however,  be- 
sieged them.  High  bred  and  delicate,  unused  either 
to  any  forms  of  business,  or  to  the  stern  hand  to  hand 
struggle  which  alone  wrests  bread  from  savage 
nature,  utterly  ignorant  of  any  manual  art,  and  even 
of  the  most  ordinary  processes  of  agriculture,  espe- 
cially where  so  stubborn  a  forest  was  first  to  be  con- 
quered, and  moreover,  unacquainted  either  with  the 
language,  the  laws  or  the  customs  of  the  people 
around  them,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  select 
from  the  nations  of  the  earth  a  company  less  fit  for 
the  rugged  task  they  had  undertaken. 

Three  distinct  and  successive  times,  by  the  incredi- 


ILL   SUCCESS    OF   THE   ADYENTUEE.  305 

ble  errors  or  folly  of  their  agents,  were  they  foi  ced  to 
give  up  the  tracts  which  they  had  begun  to  improve, 
and  to  select  others.     They  were  thus  driven  back 
from  their  first  eligible  location  on  the  river  front, 
into  waterless  and  inaccessible  lots  within  the  forest. 
Their  city  of  Demopolis  was  found  to  be  ^"ithout  the 
limits  of  their  claim,  and  was  bought  from  the  United 
States  over  their  heads  by  a  crew  of  speculators,  at 
fifty-two  dollars  an  acre.     The  sharking  land-thieves 
of  the  border  coolly  "squatted"  within  their  grants, 
and  insultingly  informed  them  that  they  should  main- 
tain themselves  there  at  all  risks.     Although  some 
suits  were  decided  against  these  swindlers,  yet  the 
French,  vexed  and  wearied  with  legal  expenses  and 
delays,  often  allowed  the  interlopers  to  remain  for 
some  small  consideration.     Without  vehicles,  cattle, 
slaves  or  servants,  the  German  redemptioners  whom 
Desnouettes  imported,  proving  idle,  faithless  and  use- 
less, they  wasted   enormous   amounts  of  labor   and 
money  to  raise  inadequate  crops.     Desnouettes  him- 
self, a  rich  man,  the  wealthiest  of  them  all,  expended 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars  in  opening  and  culti- 
vating his  own  farm.    Their  ignorance  of  agriculture, 
and  still  more  the  unfitness  of  the  land  and  of  the 
climate,  caused  the  total  failure  of  their  persevering 
attempts  to  cultivate  the  vine  and  the  olive,  accord- 
ing to  the  terms  of  their  grant.     The  grapes,  which 
after  many  unsuccessful  attempts,  they  succeeded  in 


306  FRENCH    CHIVALRY   IN   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

ripening,  matured  under  the  vivid  heat  of  the  Ala- 
bama sun,  in  the  midst  of  the  summer,  and  the  must 
soured  into  vinegar  before  it  had  time  to  ferment 
into  wine.  Tlie  frosts  of  the  winter,  on  the  other 
hand,  yearly  cut  down  the  olive  shoots  to  the  ground, 
and  though  they  sprouted  again  in  the  spring,  it  was 
to  meet  the  same  fate. 

Although  all  theii*  schemes  for  establishing  a  settled 
community  were  abortive,  from  the  first,  and  in 
despite  of  multiplied  mortifications  and  griefs,  of 
solitude,  savages,  land-thieves,  vain  labor,  imminent 
poverty,  venomous  insects,  sickly  atmosphere,  and 
exhausting  fevers,  the  indomitable  French  gaiety  and 
determined  lightness  of  heart  procured  for  them  many 
happ3^  hours.  They  met  at  each  other's  houses,  to 
talk  of  the  past,  to  enjoy  literary  conversation  and 
female  society,  music,  and  dancing,  and  the  occasion- 
al festive  gifts  of  friends ;  and  in  whatever  distress, 
seem  never  once  to  have  abated  any  *' jot  of  heart  or 
hope."  At  one  of  these  evening  re-unions  General 
Desnouettes,  who  had  commanded  the  cavalry  before 
Saragossa,  unexpectedly  met  one  who  had  been  a 
leader  within  the  desperately  defended  town.  This 
was  General  Rico,  a  Spaniard  ;  a  man  of  noble  pres- 
ence, of  great  energy  and  decision,  an  opponent  to 
the  last,  of  Napoleon's  invasion  of  Spain,  now 
exiled  from  his  country  as  a  constitutionalist  by  Fer- 
dinand  the   Seventh.      Settling  in    the    colony,  he 


DISPERSION  OF   THE   SETTLERS.  307 

became  almost  the  only  successful  farmer  within  its 
limits. 

At  last  the  prospects  of  the  little  community  grew 
definitely  hopeless  ;  and  its  extinction  was  unavoid- 
able. Many  of  the  settlers  had  sold  out  to  American 
proprietors,  who  speedily  brought  the  rich  soil  into 
high  condition,  and  made  valuable  crops  ;  while  the 
foreign  proprietors,  thus  rooted  out,  were  scattered 
away  in  many  directions.  Madame  Desnouettes,  after 
an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  join  her  husband  in  Ala- 
bama, at  last  succeeded  in  obtaining  for  him  permis- 
sion from  the  French  government  to  return  to  France  ; 
but  the  veteran,  embarking  on  the  ill-fated  packet 
Albion,  was  lost  with  many  more,  in  that  vessel,  on 
old  Kinsale  Head,  upon  the  Irish  coast,  and  before  the 
eyes  of  a  great  crowd  of  people,  unable  to  afford  any 
assistance.  Eaoul  established  himself  as  a  ferry- 
man, at  French  Creek,  three  miles  from  Demo- 
polis;  where  his  striking  figure,  foreign  features 
and  soldier-like  air,  excited  the  wonder  of  many 
travellers.  He  afterwards  went  to  Mexico,  his  faith- 
ful wife  accompanying  him;  where  he  fought 
bravely  in  the  revolution  of  that  year ;  and  at  last 
returning  to  France  he  was  before  long  again  an  offi- 
cer in  the  French  army.  Count  Clausel  did  not  settle 
at  Demopolis,  bnt  remaining  near  Mobile,  he  raised 
vegetables  and  sold  them  himself  in  the  market. 
He  returned  to  France  in  1825  :  and  became,  under 


3D8  FEENCH   CHIVALET   IN   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

Louis  Philippe,  a  marshal  of  France,  and  governor 
of  Algeria.  The  Spanish  General  Rico,  returning  to 
Spain,  was  for  a  time  a  member  of  the  Cortes  under 
the  constitution,  was  again  exiled,  fled  to  England,  and 
was  once  more  called  to  assist  in  governing  his  country. 

Some  few  of  the  settlers  passed  the  remainder  of 
their  lives  in  Alabama,  where  their  descendants 
yet  live  in  good  repute;  but  the  colony,  with  these 
scattering  exceptions,  has  left  no  trace,  except  the 
name  Demopolis,  Areola,  the  name  of  another  town, 
and  Marengo,  the  name  given  in  compliment  to 
a  county  in  which  part  of  their  grant  was  situated. 

The  whole  history  of  the  French  power  in  the 
Southwestern  United  States,  and  indeed,  the  fate  of 
their  whole  vast,  but  abortive  scheme  of  empire,  on 
the  Kortli  American  continent,  from  the  icebound 
shores  of  Hudson's  Bay  and  Labrador,  Cape  Breton, 
and  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence,  to  the  swamps  of  the 
Mississippi  Delta,  and  the  far  distant  sands  of  Gal- 
veston, twice  unsuccessfully  settled  by  the  Frencli, 
furnishes  a  clear  and  decided  testimony  of  tlie  superior 
inherent  vitality  and  vivid  diffusive  power  which, 
whether  they  reside  in  the  physical  conformation, 
the  mental  and  moral  character,  or  the  political  and 
religious  constitutions  of  the  race,  have  ever  enabled 
the  Anglo  Saxons  to  seize,  to  hold,  to  consolidate  and 
to  maintain  nation  after  nation,  upon  territory  after 
territoiy,  in  every  quarter  of  the  world,  with  a  sue- 


ANGLO-SAXON  SUPREMACY. 


109 


cess  compared  with  whicli  the  enterprises  of  the  Gallic 
and  other  races  have  been  either  desultory  or  tran- 
sient, or  at  the  very  best,  have  only  attained  to  a 
sickly,  convulsive,  unprofitable,  and  unhappy  exist- 
ence. The  feudal  system  contains  nothing  expansive 
or  progressive.  Whatever  may  have  been  its  adapta- 
tion to  the  Europe  of  the  Dark  Ages,  it  had  none  to 
the  settlers  of  a  wild,  free,  forest  country.  Its  doom 
was  already  foreshadowed  at  home ;  and  it  was,  of 
course,  that  a  transplanted  shoot  from  the  decaying 
stock  should  fail  to  grow  into  a  strong  and  living 
tree.  French  chivalry  yielded,  after  a  struggle  hope- 
less from  the  beginning,  to  the  resistless  spread  of  Eng- 
lish constitutionalism  ;  and  the  empire  which  Louis  the 
Fourteenth,  the  greatest  monarch  of  his  time,  Crozat, 
Law,  and  the  company — the  best  of  the  merchants 
of  the  time — strove  in  vain  tofound,  has  grown  up  by 
spontaneous  increase,  under  the  benign  infiuences  of 
free,  civilized  Christian  repubhcanism. 


THE     END 


FOR  USE  ONLY  IN 
THE  NORTH  CAROLINA  COLLECTION 


Form  No.  A -368 


